


The Partners

by jxnehxpper



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Violence, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, cop!steve, just two friends out on the town in luv, swearing??? is that something ppl dont like, there is copious swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jxnehxpper/pseuds/jxnehxpper
Summary: You and Steve are police apprentices at Hawkins Police Station in the fall of 1986. You get along famously, but there’s something Steve is hiding, and there is an unknown evil lurking in Hawkins.
Relationships: Steve Harrington & Original Character(s), Steve Harrington & You, Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	1. chapter one: please, please, please, let me get what I want

**Author's Note:**

> chapter summary: Steve finally agrees to hang out outside of work.

You pull into Hawkin’s Police Department at 7:30, a half hour before your shift. There are two coffees in the cup holders of your car, and a paper bag filled with two pastries on the passenger seat. You pull in beside your partner’s car and he hops out, a smile plastered on his face. He crawls into your passenger side and grabs the bag.

“This one’s yours,” you say, pointing to the coffee cup marked _milk w/ dash of coffee._ He laughs, pulling out his blueberry danish and handing you your strawberry donut. He bites into his pastry and lets out a sinful moan, making you smack his arm.

“It’s too early for you to be gross,” you say, but he looks victorious.

“I’m sorry you don’t like my happiness,” he quips, and you roll your eyes.

It was tradition that every Monday that you both worked, you’d get coffee and pastries from the local bakery and shoot the shit in your car until your shift started.

“So, I had a dream last night where I was dating Mia Sara,” he says.

“Wish that were me,” you reply, taking a sip of coffee. “Did it work out for you guys?”

“Nah, she left me for Harrison Ford.”

“Tragic.”

He pauses, listening to the music softly coming from your radio. He scoffs upon realizing what was playing.

“Stop listening to this sad shit,” he says, turning the dial, making you shout.

“It’s the Smiths!” You try to bat his hand away, but he manages to change the channel to a Queen song. Typical.

You and Steve had become good friends after securing your positions, despite your perception of him in high school. After the fire at Starcourt and the death of Jim Hopper, the federal government had given the Hawkins Police a grant to let aspiring cops train directly in the field. It would fast-track getting certified, eliminating the need for expensive schooling. It was like a paid internship. A paid internship where you basically get paid to bullshit with your best friend all day.

A third car pulls in. It’s Veronica, the secretary. She takes over on days that Flo wants off – she’s worked hard enough for it. Veronica was a bit obsessed with Steve, so he groaned when he saw her get out and wave.

“What do you think she’s going to say to you today?” you giggle, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Probably, like… that she had a dream about _us_ last night, or something.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “ _God_ , please don’t let her talk to me.”

Women were throwing themselves at Steve the minute he put the uniform on, but he claimed he wasn’t interested in dating. You weren’t really sure why, given his history, but he never answered any questions. He just said he wanted to focus on work and having fun, so you let him.

Steve was kind of a mystery to you. You were incredibly close at the station, but you’d been working with him for a few months and you _never_ saw each other outside of work. There were talks of maybe going to a movie, but they never went anywhere. It was bizarre, considering how fond you both were of each other. But you didn’t want to push it, unsure if you were making him uncomfortable.

In reality, Steve was just nervous of letting people in. Not just because of his history with girls and friends, but because he also had Russians and demons to worry about. He felt that if he let anyone new into his life, he would be putting them in mortal danger. This viewpoint is also the reason why he applied for the apprenticeship in the first place.

When the position popped up, Steve had no second thoughts. He had looked up to Hopper greatly since the time Will was possessed. He knew without a doubt that he wanted to follow in Hop’s footsteps. But he also felt an obligation now that Hopper was dead. Joyce had left, taking Will and Eleven with her. The three people who had the best grip on the strange events that had occurred the past three years were gone, and the man who devised most of the plans (and executed them) was gone, too. Steve couldn’t sleep at night for _months._ He needed to constantly call the kids and Robin to make sure they were safe. Being part of the Hawkins Police seemed like a no-brainer; it was a way to ensure everyone was safe and be on the frontlines to protect them.

Not that he ever let this on; usually he would just say that he’s always wanted to be a cop, and he kept it at that.

You’d decided to do the apprenticeship after college didn’t work out. You went to one in Indianapolis after high school, but you weren’t really into it. Your parents decided to retire and travel for a few years, offering to let you have the house while they’re gone. You gratefully took them up on it, and you’d been living there since the spring. You’d enjoyed a few months off, but decided it was time to find something new to do. You’d always had a fantasy of being a hero. Maybe not a hero _cop_ , but a hero. You wanted to save lives, make an impact. Being a police officer seemed like a good start. You knew it wouldn’t be like the movies, but the strange events that happened the last few years excited you. Maybe you’d get the chance to be someone you’ve always wanted to be.

“Why don’t you just give Veronica a chance?” you ask. “She’s pretty and she’s nice and she’s smart.”

“She _literally_ told me she wanted a lock of my hair,” he says.

You choke on your coffee. “I forgot about that.”

“Yeah? I didn’t.”

Steve’s watch beeps, signaling that it’s 5 minutes until 8.

“Please keep talking to me when we go in,” he begs as you both climb out of the car.

“What’s in it for me?” you inquire.

“I will give you all of the lunches my mom brings me for two weeks.”

You pause. “Even the Fruit Roll-Ups?”

He sighs. “I’ll throw them in if you do a good job.”

You successfully make it past the reception desk without incident, waving hi to Callahan and Powell. You knock on the Chief’s door to signify your arrival, and you and Steve make your way back to the annex you worked in. Your desks faced each other, making it easier to talk through your 8-hour shifts. They were usually pretty boring. You and Steve were only cleared to respond to calls about petty things, like noise disturbances. But it’s not like much ever happened anymore in Hawkins, and the town had almost made it a full year without any weird occurrences.

A few hours go by, and boredom runs rampant. You hated Mondays: things hardly ever happened. Steve gets up around 10:30 and puts a mixtape into the boombox in the annex. _Don’t You (Forget About Me)_ comes on, and Steve mutters, “aw, hell yeah,” under his breath. You know he’s going to start dancing, but it doesn’t stop the surprised smile on your face as he starts to swing and spin and sing. It’s magic, watching Steve dance. It makes no sense, it’s clumsy, it’s so white that it hurts; but it’s also hilarious and never fails to pick you up. Sometimes you’d join him. Other times, you’d call him an idiot. And sometimes you’d just watch as the magic unfolds.

This was one of those times.

–

The door to the annex opens around 1, approximately 5 hours into your shift. You and Steve are begging for something to do, because throwing M&Ms at each other isn’t fun by the second hour. You’d just thrown one at Steve when the door swings open, and you and Steve look at the intruder with wide eyes. It’s the Chief.

The new Chief was okay, you guessed. He was also brought in by the feds. He was a kind older man, with deep set blue eyes and wispy white hair. He could have come straight out of a storybook. You thought the Chief delegated nicely, and you’d shared a few good laughs. Something always felt off, though – but you and Steve chalked that up to the fact that you both were extremely biased against anyone who _wasn’t_ Hop.

“Noise disturbance call,” Chief Edwards says. “Some kids out on Maple Street are causing mayhem.”

Steve groans and throws his head back. “ _Please_ tell me it’s not 30 Maple Street.”

The Chief blinks. “It is.”

“God dammit,” Steve says under his breath. It’s Mike’s house.

You and Steve get into a patrol car and set off.

“Do you know these kids?” you ask.

“Yeah, they’re kind of… _my_ kids?” He scrunches his nose. “I keep them out of trouble.”

You pause, confused. “So, you babysit them?”

“No, no,” Steve says. His face grows slightly red. “They’re my friends.”

Steve pulls into the driveway of the house, blaring the siren once to scare the kids that were on the lawn. Their faces quickly went from scared to excited as they saw it was Steve in the car.

You both get out of the car, and Steve takes the lead. He puts his hands on his hips and faces the kids. There were 4 boys and 2 girls, no older than 16, if you could guess. One of them with dark hair is holding a hose, and the others are wet.

“What are you shitheads doing?” Steve asks sternly. A couple of the kids giggle.

“What seems to be the problem, _officer_?” the red headed girl asks.

“I told you we were being too loud,” a kid you recognize as Will Byers says. He is smart, sitting on the porch and just watching, amused.

“Right,” says Steve, pointing at Will in recognition. “Way too loud. Mike, where’s your parents?”

There’s a beat, and then the girl standing next to the red head quietly says, “Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler aren’t home.”

Steve sighs. “Alright, well, you could always act like idiots _inside_ the house, you know.” He looks at the dark-haired boy holding the hose. “Mike, what are you doing with that?”

The boy’s face breaks out into a devilish grin, and you can predict what’s about to happen. He points the hose at Steve and a curly haired boy turns the handle to let the water spray out, missing Steve by a hair. He jumps back.

“ _HEY!_ ” he shouts. “Not cool dude, not in my uniform!”

“Wimp,” you laugh, and push him forward, allowing him to get splashed. The kids cheer, and then Steve’s hands are on your arms, and he swings you around to get hit, too. You gasp at the freezing feeling on the back of your legs, but burst into laughter, trying to wrestle Steve back into the flow. This goes on for entirely too long before you suddenly realize that it probably isn’t a good look to be out here responding to a call and then partaking in the offense.

“Steve,” you say, and that’s all it takes for him to snap back into reality.

“This is fun and all,” he says, letting you go. “But we came to bust you, not join in.”

The curly haired boy turns the water off and Mike sets the hose down. Steve has a way with kids. He’s able to level with them and call them out at the same time. It’s pretty great to watch and it’s certainly something you admired him for.

“Who’s this?” the curly haired kid asks, grinning widely.

“Oh,” Steve says. “This is my partner, Y/N.”

“Do _you_ get to carry a gun?”

“Lucas!”

“ _Sorry!”_

“You hang out with Steve? That must suck,” the dark-haired boy, Mike, says.

“Every single day,” you say solemnly. “It’s the worst.”

“Hey,” Steve says quietly.

“I’m kidding, bud.” You punch his arm lightly. “You’re the best.”

You look back at the kids and they’re all staring at you with wide eyes. It makes you uncomfortable, so you clear your throat and say, “Well, uh – shift is almost over. We should be going.”

After an awkward farewell and another “please be quiet or I’ll kick your ass” from Steve, you both get in the patrol car. Steve sees Dustin gesture to call him, and he rolls his eyes, pulling out of the driveway.

“Why did they look at me like that?” you ask. “Because I said you’re the best?” You pause. “Do they hate you?”

He’s quiet for a while. Finally, he says, “I think it’s because we are really buddy-buddy but… I don’t really… I haven’t ever really… talked about you.”

You turn in your seat to face him. “Do _you_ hate _me?”_

“Of course I don’t hate you.” His cheeks are red – he’s flustered. “You’re one of my best friends –“

“Then why don’t you ever talk about me? Or hang out with me?”

“It’s complicated,” he sighs. “It’s really complicated. I just – I don’t like … I get nervous about having new friends.”

You nod slowly. “Tommy H. and Carol.”

“Yeah.” It’s not really why he’s nervous, but it’s a good excuse. “I don’t want to get dicked over again.”

“Man,” you say, turning back to face the road. “I buy you a blueberry danish every single Monday. And a coffee. And I let you sing Queen at the top of your lungs, and I let you dance, and sometimes I even let you do it at 5 in the morning. I think if I didn’t want to be your friend, you would know by now.”

He’s quiet, thinking. You look at him, trying to read him.

“I _guess_ I owe you the pleasure of hanging out with me,” he says after a while, a smile forming. “So _maybe_ we can hang out Friday night.”

You gasp and throw your arm out, hitting him on the shoulder, making the car swerve slightly.

“ _Jesus_ –”

“Do you mean it?” you shout, smiling widely. “We can hang out?”

“I said maybe,” he teases. “It’s board game night with the kids – _maybe_ you can come?”

You start chanting his name – “ _Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve!_ Really? Are you for real?”

“Yes!” He laughs and rolls his eyes again. “I’ll pick you up. It starts at 7.”

You smile so hard that your cheeks hurt.

Steve silently hopes he doesn’t regret this.


	2. chapter two: there is a light that never goes out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve grow closer; you and Steve are called in to investigate a death.

The rest of the week rolls by without many incidents. By the time Friday comes, you’re beaming with excitement.

“We’re still on, right?” You ask him Friday morning, bouncing on your toes.

“Y/N, for the fifteenth time, yes,” he laughs. “I’m not bailing.”

He kind of wishes he could – he hasn’t been able to sleep. He can’t stop worrying. What if this is a mistake? What if you get hurt? What if this all backfires? He can’t let you know this, though, and he’s been grinning through the week.

“Great, do you know where I live?”

“Three streets away from me, Oak Street, the big white house.”

You tilt your head. “How did you—”

“You’re the only person in town with a Walter Mondale sticker on their bumper,” he replies. “I saw your car in your driveway.”

Steve had moved out of his parent’s house about one week after securing the position at the station. His parents had graciously gotten him an “apartment,” which was in fact a nice house in a good spot in town. They paid his rent as a form of gratitude that he was “getting his life together”. He hated that idea, truly, but was happy to be able to live on his own, only worrying about groceries. He was a lot happier now that he was on his own – specifically that he was not living with his father. He did see his mother though, and pretty often, because she would bring him a lunch every few days.

“Creep,” you say, smiling. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”

“Y/N, we have an eight hour shift ahead of us.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you all day and _then_ tonight.”

———

Steve pulls up around 6:30, and he’s sweating bullets. He honks once, then waits. He finds himself checking himself out in the rearview mirror, and then quickly jerks his head away. _It must be some kind of knee-jerk reaction,_ Steve thinks, _picking up a girl feels like a date._

You come out of your house and lock the door, then bolt down the steps to his car. He can feel the energy radiating off of you.

“Hi,” you say as you slip inside.

“You look nice when you’re not wearing a uniform,” he jokes.

“Funny. I was going to say the same about you.” You buckle up and he sets off for Mike’s house.

“Now that you’re hanging out with _my_ friends, am I going to hang out with yours?” he asks.

You deflate slightly. “Well, that’s the thing,” you say quietly, examining your nails. “I um. I don’t really… have any?”

He looks over at you, forehead creasing at your body language. “You don’t have _any_ friends? That’s gotta be bullshit.”

“I did,” you explain. “But then I went to college and I lost touch with people from high school. And then I came back and I lost touch with people from college. So, I really don’t…” you sigh heavily. “Hang out with people.”

He swallows hard. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. If I knew –“

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not your fault or anything. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” You smile and lightly punch his arm. “Since I managed to crawl into your life.”

“Well, you’ll really like the kids,” he says. “Let me give you the rundown.”

He begins to explain all six of them. Dustin Henderson, his best friend, has a bit of a lisp and some disease that “makes him like Gumbo? Gumby? Whatever.” Mike Wheeler, party leader, bit of a drama queen, loyal friend. Lucas Sinclair, funny one of the bunch, dating Max, the redhead, is emotionally mature despite his comedic exterior. Max Mayfield, redhead extraordinaire, metaphorically adopted sister of Steve, super intelligent and strong. Will Byers, “you already know him,” kind and quiet, has been through a lot, deserves the world. Then there’s El.

“El is… different.”

“How?”

“Well…,” he sighs. “She… comes from a bad home. She was… _she comes from a bad home_. They did bad things to her.”

“Oh.”

“But she’s really great. I’m trying to teach her how to read before she and Will go back to Maine for school. She’s dating Mike, they get along pretty well. She’s really smart, just behind since she never got to go to school.”

You nod. “They all sound like phenomenal kids.”

“They are,” he replies thoughtfully. “Sometimes they’re a pain in the ass, but they’re _my_ pain in the ass.”

You pull into the same large house on Maple Street that you had a few days before and hop out. You’re feeling a bit antsy – so is Steve.

“Wait,” you say. “Doesn’t Nancy live here?”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but we’re cool. We still talk to each other. And she’s probably out with Jonathan anyway.” He clears his throat, and you reach out and squeeze his arm. “I’m okay,” he laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”

The kids remember you from the other day, and your friendship with Steve helps convince them that you’re a good person. You get along together immediately, laughing and joking like you’re all old friends. Steve beams and Dustin nudges him, making Steve shove him.

“We’re watching The Goonies tonight,” Lucas says, producing the VHS.

“What’s a goonie?” El asks.

“It’s like, a silly person,” Steve explains. “Like Mike.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “We can’t start yet, Robin isn’t here.”

You nearly choke on the soda you were drinking. “Robin? Robin Buckley?”

As if on cue, the door to the basement opens and Robin comes down. You jump up and shout her name. She looks at you, confused for a brief moment, then smiles widely and bounds over to you.

“Oh my God!” you both shout as you embrace. You try to ask each other questions, but they all come out at the same time, making you both laugh.

“Are you going to tell us how you both know each other?” Steve asks, brows drawn together, but smiling, nonetheless.

“We were in band together!” Robin exclaims. “I thought you died or something, you never called!”

“I lost your number when I moved to Indianapolis,” you explain, squeezing her hand. “But I’m back now. I’ve been back for a few months. I work with Steve, at the station.”

Robin snaps her head over to him and glares, making him sink in his seat.

“None of us knew,” Max pipes up. “That Steve works with someone, I mean.”

Robin closes her eyes and shakes her head. She looks back at Steve with a _we need to talk_ kind of look, then turns back to you. “Well, you’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

As the night goes on, you grow more and more comfortable with everyone. You sit and talk to Robin while the rest of the gang plays Monopoly. You could mirror the movie to how the kids act – it’s like they _are_ the Goonies. You watch as they all bicker, Max shoving Lucas over stupid jokes, and El grabbing onto Mike, leaning into him. You watch as Will and Dustin barter with each other, and as Steve calls them all out for “cheating,” which is code for “I really suck at this game and need to explain why I’m losing.”

Your eyes focus on Steve while he explains something to El. It makes your chest swell. It feels like the only thing you can focus on his Steve. How bright his eyes are while talking to his friends, how his brows flit together then part as he laughs. And his _laugh._ It’s the only thing you can hear, and the sound rings in your ears. He looks up at you and smiles, then goes back to looking at the game board. You snap out of your trance.

“Oh, ew.” It’s supposed to be said in your head, but you say it out loud.

“What?” Robin asks. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” you say after a moment. “Yeah, sorry. I just got a little, uh, sidetracked. So, um, are you planning on going to school anywhere?”

Soon enough, it’s one in the morning, and the kids are getting tired. You are, too, and you yawn loudly.

“Let’s go, sleepyhead,” Steve says, holding out his hands to help you off the couch. You take them, swallowing the electricity in your stomach.

“You should come by more often!” Dustin grins.

“Yeah, we need more girls around,” Max says, and you smile back at her.

“You’re welcome in the party anytime,” Mike declares, and the others agree.

You could almost cry at how nice they are. “You guys will never know how… how much…” you sniffle. “How much this night has meant for me.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, rubbing your back. “Time to go, buddy.”

“You guys are the best!” you say through tears, and Steve shushes you gently, guiding you upstairs.

“Steve!” Dustin shouts, and bounds up behind him. Steve rolls his eyes and tells you to head out to the car.

“You better bring her around again.” Dustin squeezes his arm and Steve rolls his eyes once more.

“We mean it!” Will says. “She’s cool.”

“You guys don’t even like _me_ this much,” Steve huffs, to which Robin replies, “Yes, because you’re a dingus. Y/N is cool.”

“Good _night!_ ” Steve groans, continuing upstairs.

He unlocks the car and you both get in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes shining, “for taking me out.”

“Of course,” he hums. “Next time it can just be us, without kids and Robin.”

Your stomach flips and you ignore it again. “I’d really like to.”

You both make conversation as you head down the darkened streets. You think the town at night is beautiful and serene. Steve thinks it’s eerie and threatening. He really didn’t like going out at night much anymore, and he typically had to talk himself up if he was leaving somewhere past 9 pm. You notice the change in his energy, how he is suddenly gripping the steering wheel a bit too tight.

You begin to ask him if he’s alright, but a deer scampers across the road. It’s not very close, and maybe required just a slight brake, but Steve throws his arm out to pin you to your seat and slams on the brakes. The car slides to a halt and you slam back against the seat; thankfully Steve threw his arm over you, or you’d probably have a severe case of whiplash.

When the car stills, you look over at him, eyes wide and heart skipping. He looks like he aged 50 years in ten seconds. His eyes are huge, jaw clenched tightly. A crease on his forehead. His body is stiff and he is leaning forward, almost like he’s about to fight. He looks, quite honestly, like death.

“Steve,” you breathe. “Are you okay?”

Steve throws the car into park. He squeezes his eyes shut and blinks a few times, eventually relaxing in his seat. Although his body is relaxed, you can hear how his breathing is a quick staccato, not slow. He runs a hand through his hair once, twice, three times. It sounds like he’s drowning, and his eyes are filled with tears when he looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m sorry – I thought –“

His eyes can’t focus. They run around in his head, back at the road, to you, to the steering wheel, to his hands, to the road again.

You realize he’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” you coo. “Look at me, Steve.”

He faces you, but his eyes are still moving rapidly, and his breathing is becoming quicker. You see him swallow hard.

“You’re safe,” you say, reaching out and taking a hand. “It was just a deer. You’re safe. I’m here.”

He nods stiffly. “No – I know that – I just thought….” _I just thought it was a Demogorgon. No big deal._ He clamps his eyes shut again and you see tears fall.

“Steve, look at me. Focus on me, okay?”

He nods lightly and does, and you see his pupils focus in on you.

“Breathe with me, alright? In and out.” You exaggerate your breathing, deeply in through the nose and out through the mouth. He tries to keep up and pace himself, but it takes a few tries.

“You’re doing great,” you say quietly, and squeeze his hand. “Can you pull the car over for me?”

He does as you ask, eyes scanning the road ahead. His bat is in the trunk (he figured he should hide it before you see it), and he considers getting out to grab it. You pull him back to reality.

“Look at me.” His eyes meet yours again. “I’m going to teach you something, okay? It’s based on your senses. Can you tell me five things you hear?”

He blinks. “I hear the engine… I hear your breathing… I hear the radio… I hear _my_ breathing… I hear my heart beating.”

You nod. “Okay, good. Four things you can see?”

“Uh….” His eyes flick back to the road and you gently pull his head back to look at you.

“I’ll focus on the road, okay? Just tell me four things you see in the car.”

“I see you… I see my hands… I see the steering wheel… I see the light from the stereo.”

“Three things you smell?”

“My cologne, your perfume, gasoline.”

“Two things you can feel?”

“Your skin and the seat under me.”

You smile. “This one’s tough. One thing you can taste.”

Steve pauses. “Coca-Cola?”

“Perfect,” you say, squeezing his hand again. “Do you feel better?”

He does; he’s not fully grounded, but he’s feeling better than he did a few minutes ago. He can breathe normally again, and his body is a bit more relaxed. He nods and you let his hand go.

“You’re okay,” you repeat. “You’re safe.”

“I’m okay,” he breathes. He reaches up and wipes his eyes, laughing slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Do _not_ apologize.” You don’t really know what just happened, but you know whatever he’s going through must be tough. “Your feelings are valid. It’s okay to feel that way, Steve.”

Steve sighs heavily, and after a few minutes, he puts the car in drive.

“Don’t take me home,” you request. “I can walk.”

“What? No way. I’m taking you to your house.”

“ _Steve_ ,” you say. “Sometimes you need to take care of yourself before you take care of others. I can walk, dude, it’s only 15 minutes, max.”

He wants to refute your claim. He wants to believe he’s strong enough to just take you home and forget about it all, but all he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep until the afternoon. He just wants to forget. So he pulls into his driveway and shuts the car off. He sits there for a few moments before finally saying, “I’m sorry I ruined tonight.”

“Steve.” You can’t help but to laugh. “I haven’t been this happy in so long. I don’t care – I don’t mind that you got… spooked. And we don’t ever have to talk about it again. I don’t care what happens as long as I’m with you.”

The corners of his mouth perk up. “Oh no, Y/N. Don’t fall in love with me.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him, smiling _. That’s_ the Steve you knew.

You reach into the center console, finding an old receipt and a pen.

“Here,” you say, scribbling. “Here’s my number.” You shove the receipt towards him, and he takes it.

Steve writes his number on the bottom of the receipt and rips it off. “And here’s mine. You better call me when you get home. Like, the minute you go through the door.”

“I promise.”

You both get out of the car.

“I really did have fun,” you say. “I hope I see you soon.”

He nods. Part of you wishes he would say it back, but you understand. As you’re walking off, he calls after you.

“Y/N!”

“Yeah?”

He licks his lips. “Thank you.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and salute, continuing off into the night.

———

You awake Monday morning at 1 am to your phone ringing. You quickly sit up in bed and grab it.

“Hello?”

“Y/N.” It’s Steve. “I need your help.”

Your eyebrows knit together, and you look at your clock. “Are you okay?”

“I….” He huffs. “I’m trying to make danishes for everyone at the station? But everything I do is wrong, and there’s flour _everywhere_ —”

“It’s one in the god damn morning!” You exclaim. “We have work in _seven hours_.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he says, like you’re the idiot. “Why do you think I’m making them now?”

You close your eyes. You want to be annoyed, but it’s honestly hilarious. “Okay, Steve. I’ll be there in a few.”

You arrive and knock on the door, and you’re greeted by Steve. He is covered in flour, and he looks nearly as stressed as he was Friday night.

You gawk at him. “What—”

“Just – come in,” he insists, grabbing you and pulling you inside.

Steve has a really nice house. Or apartment, or whatever he wants to call it. He takes you through the living room, then dining room, and into the kitchen, where there is even more flour. It looks like a bomb went off.

“So,” he starts, pacing around the kitchen, creating tracks in the flour-covered floor. “I’m trying to make these, right? And it says to put flour and butter into a blender. And so I did. And like, it’s fine, it’s going great, but then I guess I added too much flour, and now it’s everywhere. And this fucking dough is supposed to chill for 6 hours and we have work in 7.”

“Where is your recipe?”

He hands you a sheet of paper and you scan over it.

“Steve,” you groan. “Are you even following this?” You look up at him. “How did you even manage to mix the yeast and water correctly?”

He leans on the counter and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t think I did.”

You burst into laughter. You can hardly keep yourself upright. Your ribs and jaw hurt, but you can’t stop. Steve seems annoyed at first, but then starts laughing with you.

“No matter what, you couldn’t have these done in the morning,” you say, wiping your eyes. “Why did you think this was a good idea?”

He shrugs hopelessly. “I just wanted to be nice, and I couldn’t sleep.”

You both resolve to cleaning up and starting again. You would make the dough and let it chill, and then continue making them that night.

You watch from afar, giving Steve tips and reading the directions out for him. He’s not super helpless when someone is directing him. When it comes time to fold the dough, though, he’s doing it wrong.

“No,” you say, jumping up and coming behind him. “You fold like this.”

You take his hand and help him get the technique right. After a few moments, your cheeks start to burn, and you feel that same chest-swelling feeling that you had at Mike’s house. You slow your movements and Steve follows, until you completely stop. He turns back to look at you, and you notice how close you are to him.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Steve drops the spatula he was using and hurries off into the living room, looking paler than usual.

“Hello?” you hear him ask. There’s a long pause before he says, “Do you want Y/N to come too?” Another pause. “Okay. We’ll be right there.”

He comes back into view and looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Who was it?” you ask, heart beating fast.

“It was the Chief. There’s a dead body at Rimborn Steelworks.”


	3. chapter three: panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve start an investigation; you stand up for Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader also channels their inner April Ludgate in this chapter!

You race home to grab your uniform and promise Steve that you’ll meet him at the scene. His anxiety is so spiked about a dead body in Hawkins that he doesn’t even worry about driving in the dark. He just wants to get to the scene.

Steve grips the steering wheel of his car so tightly that his hands go numb. His face is paler than usual, and his throat feels dry. His head spins and there’s a black edge to his vision. But still, he drives.

Steve doesn’t know the details, but he has a gut feeling that this is a murder. The last murder in Hawkins – if you can call it murder – happened that night at Starcourt. Things had gotten back to normal since then. The town was quiet, dull, almost serene. Who the hell is murdering someone? What if it’s the Russians? The lab? A Demogorgon? Steve feels like he’s been punched in the gut. How can he make sure everyone is safe?

He wishes you drove with him.

Steve pulls in and hardly remembers to shut the car off before springing out. He jogs over to the scene, already brightly lit by floodlights and taped off. He notices police that aren’t from Hawkins – the government must be here. Steve sucks in a sharp breath at the realization. If the government is here, it has to be bad, right?

He approaches where the Chief is standing with a few well-dressed men. The Chief hears him and allows him into the circle. Chief Edwards knew about the events at Starcourt – hence why he was brought to Hawkins in the first place. Steve shared an odd bond with him, despite the growing feeling in his gut that something _just wasn’t right_ about him. He had his theories, which he kept to himself. The apprehension probably had something to do with how the American government acted the last time they were stationed here. That resulted in Will, the Upside Down, and Eleven.

Was he really so wrong not to trust them?

The body is of a man, middle aged. He’s got a gun in his hand and a shot through the middle of his forehead. Dark red blood pools around his head like a halo. Steve’s desensitized to gore, not even flinching at the macabre scene. He shakes his head solemnly before looking at the Chief and the men.

“Do you think it’s the Russians?” Steve asks anxiously. “Or a left-over Demogorgon, or something?”

Chief Edwards purses his lips. “If it were one of those creatures, the body wouldn’t be _here_ , it would be _there_. And there’s been no signs of Russians here in Hawkins.” He shakes his head. “Looks like your everyday suicide to me.”

“Suicide?” Steve scoffs. “Like how Benny Hammond ‘committed suicide’?”

“ _Watch_ ,” Chief Edwards says. The men beside him are quiet – Steve thinks they look like aliens. Edwards looks at the men and waves them off, and they head over to another group of men who look the same.

Edwards turns to Steve, face soft. “What do I have to do to get you to trust me, kid?”

“Not work for the government would be a start,” he spat, turning to look at the older man with his arms crossed.

“Those people are gone,” Chief Edwards stressed, throwing his hands out. “They’re dead. They sent Sam Owens and his team to take care of what they did. Even Jim Hopper trusted Owens!”

Steve hates hearing Hopper’s name thrown out like that, and winces. “That doesn’t mean I do.”

“Kid, you’re an apprentice. You’re here to learn, not teach. Either you get some faith in me and your government, or you can leave.”

Steve bristles, glaring tensely at the man’s blue eyes, before he feels a soft hand on his arm. He spins and finds you, eyes wide with worry.

“Y/L/N,” Chief says. “Here’s your first dead body.”

You inch closer, heart panging with empathy as you look at the man. Your eyes well up with tears. “Suicide, huh?”

Steve wants to call you an idiot, but refrains.

“Looks like it,” the Chief responds pointedly, glancing over at Steve.

“But why here?” you ask.

“Yeah, great question,” Steve interjects. “Why here?”

Steve knows damn well that these government men know what happened here last year. He knows they know it was the Source. Why would a random man kill himself here? Of all places? It just doesn’t add up.

“Maybe he used to work here. Maybe he knew no one comes here and he would have some peace before he does it. Who’s to say?” Chief Edwards answers. There’s a sharpness to his voice that has your eyebrows running together.

Steve sighs heavily, quite frankly pissed off. “Guess it’s something we can look into, huh, Chief?”

You straighten, excited by the idea. “Could we?” you gasp. “Could we investigate?”

“ _Absolutely not!_ ” The Chief seems irate now, much to your confusion. “You two are _interns_ for Christ’s sake. Not detectives. You can sit in on the briefings, but this isn’t up to you. You’re not ready.”

Dejected, your shoulders slump, and Steve reaches out instinctively to comfort you, rubbing your shoulders.

“We brought you here to get a feel for how these things go. Go ahead and walk around, take some notes. We’ll meet back at the office.” Chief Edwards shoos you both away, but grabs Steve before he gets too far.

“I’ll look into it, kid,” he says, squeezing his shoulder. Steve wants to slink out of his grip but knows he’s already on thin ice. “Worry about something else.”

____________

“Well,” you say. “All nighters fucking suck.”

It’s nearing closing time for you both, after nearly having a 12-hour shift. Steve has been quiet for the past few hours. He looks like that famous sculpture, _The Thinker._ His brows are pulled together, forehead creased in response. He chews his lip thoughtfully, eyes roaming the room. He doesn’t respond to you, just nods, lost in something you can’t decipher. You wonder if he’s upset that he didn’t get a danish and milk-coffee this morning amidst the chaos.

“Steve,” you say, and he looks up at you. “What are you thinking about, buddy?”

He chews on his lips again, then gets up and walks to your desk. He sits on the edge of it. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. He’s hesitating to tell you his thoughts – he has to word them _just right,_ so he doesn’t give anything away.

Finally, he says, “I think something isn’t right.”

“About?”

“The body,” he sighs, a hand running through his hair. “Why would someone kill themselves there? At the S- at an abandoned warehouse?”

You shrug. “Maybe he really did have some connection to it.”

He shakes his head. “It just doesn’t add up.” He looks down at you softly. “Don’t you think something weird is going on?”

“You tell me,” you start, standing up, and Steve groans. He runs a hand over his face as you begin. “ _You_ were part of whatever the hell happened at Starcourt. I know that. You can’t lie about that. And yeah, I think something weird is going on, but I can’t know what it is unless you _tell me_.” You laugh mirthlessly. “If something weird is going on, it’s how you never want to open up to me about, I don’t know, _anything_?”

Steve shakes his head again, face scrunched up. He pauses for a long while, then says, “I _can’t_ tell you.”

“So there _is_ something!” you shout. “I _knew_ it!”

“O- _kay_ , don’t cream your pants,” he mumbles. “I just – I can’t. I can’t. All I can say is that some really… fucked up stuff has happened around here, and I think that stuff is back.”

Truthfully, you’re elated at his confession. It feels like a new level of friendship was unlocked. You feel like he trusts you now – at least enough to admit a bit.

“What can we do?” you ask. “I’m ready to help.”

“ _I’m_ thinking of doing some… undercover investigative work.” He places a strict emphasis on the “I”. “And that doesn’t involve _you._ ”

“Steve,” you plea. “Come on. I won’t mess this up. Hell, I won’t ask any questions, either. But I can help. And I _want_ to help.” The corners of your mouth quirk up. “And you can’t even drive at night, so you’ll need some assistance on that front.”

He shakes his head but can’t help the smile that forms. It fades quickly, though. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, Y/N. If what I think is happening is true… it isn’t merciful. And if we get caught, Chief is going to have us skinned alive. We’ll never be cops. And – and it might not even yield any results.”

“Steve,” you say gently, lacing your arm in his, leaning back against your desk beside him. “I don’t care. We’re partners, remember? I’m in this with you.” You sway into him. “And I love drama.”

He rolls his eyes and mulls it over. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have some help. And you’re right – he really hates being out at night and would appreciate another person with him. The kids shouldn’t get caught up in this – they need protected. As long as he’s safe with what information he gives you, it should be fine, right?

“Fine,” he says. “But I have conditions.”

“Lay it on me,” you reply.

“Rule one: no questions. You will take the information that I give you and not ask any further.”

“Whatever.”

“Rule two: you don’t talk about this to anyone. Not a single person. Not to your best buddy Callahan, and definitely not to Veronica.”

“Callahan is funny and you’re just jealo—”

“Rule _three_ : we are not listening to the Smiths when we are in my car.”

“Wh—”

“And rule four: we devote ourselves to discovering the truth and stop at nothing until we have answers.”

“Where do I sign?” you smile.

Steve reaches his hand out and you take it, firmly shaking.

“You better not mess this up,” he says, eyes bright.

_______________

Patrolling with Steve was fun.

You switched off cars so that it wouldn’t be too suspicious, and you finally took the Walter Mondale bumper sticker off yours. You both would meet up and leave around 10 pm, hiding out in the cover of night. You usually had some snacks with you and would basically shoot the shit while driving around. Around 1, you’d drive to a spot near Rimborn, sitting with your lights off and waiting for any strange activity.

Steve would usually start the nights out being tense, but relaxed after talking with you for a while. He genuinely enjoyed the company and the talks.

About a week into your undercover sleuthing, your talks with Steve start to become a bit more sentimental.

“You know,” you say, chewing on a Twizzler as you both sit in the idle car. “You’re way cooler now than you ever were in high school.”

He sighs deeply. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I mean it. You hung out with some real assholes.”

“Yeah,” he responds, leaning back in his seat. “If I could go back and change it all, I would.”

“Why did you hang out with them?” you ask after a moment.

Steve reflects on the question for a while. “I don’t know. Tommy Hagan was close in the alphabet to me, so we usually had to sit next to each other. I think we just became friends out of necessity. You know, like, ‘we might as well’.” He starts to pick at his fingers. “I hate who I used to be. I think about it every day. I think about how fucked up they were to me.” He laughs. “When Jonathan Byers beat the shit out of me, Tommy went to get me pain killers and a soda. And he asked me to pay him back!” He shakes his head and looks out the windshield. “I gave him my lunch for years, and all he cares about is two dollars?”

You purse your lips. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“It’s alright,” he says quietly. “I’m in better company now.” He smiles gratefully over at you, and that same stomach-flipping feeling comes back. Again, you push it down.

He reaches out for your hand and grabs it, taking it in his, and you blush furiously. You’re happy that it’s dark out. “I’m sorry we didn’t hang out before.”

“Steve, it’s—”

“It’s not,” he interjects, knowing exactly what you’re about to say. “It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have let my stupid… mind get in the way of a good friendship. We’ll hang out as friends again soon, okay? Not sitting in my shitty BMW while we try to catch some bad guys.”

You nod. He squeezes your hand and lets go, and you look over at him. You take in his boyish features – the softness of his skin, the glimmer in his eyes, how strong of a nose he has. His broad shoulders, his toned arms. You force yourself to look away.

“We should go get more snacks,” you declare. “Drive us to the nearest 7-11 at once.”

“As you wish,” he smiles, putting the car in drive again.

You happened to choose the worst time to go.

Going inside was fine – you get a slushie and some more Twizzlers, a bag of chips. Steve gets a soda and some candy bars. You pay, he’s grateful, it’s fine. But when you walk outside, you literally walk into the devil himself – Tommy Hagan.

He’s surrounded by four friends, one of which is Carol. Everyone pauses for a moment, eyes wide, before Tommy breaks out into a devious grin. “Well, look who it is.”

Steve is stiff as a board. “Hi, Tommy.”

“Look at you,” Carol croons, reaching up to yank on a lock of hair. “Hair’s gotten longer.”

Steve shrugs out of her grip, scoffing. “I see you’re still as annoying as ever.”

Tommy steps in between them, toe to toe with Steve, and you don’t even think before you grab him and shove him away. The typical high school _ooooo_ rises out of his friends, and Steve grabs your arm.

“ _Stop,_ ” he hisses, but you can only hear your heartbeat in your ears, feeling red-hot anger coursing through you.

“Got a new slut, huh, Harrington?” Tommy asks, sneering.

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Steve growls. But that’s not what sets you off. 

“Got other people fighting for you again, Steve? You still hanging out with fucking twelve-year olds? You still disappointing your parents? I knew you’d never amount to anything. You’re the same dumb kid I remember—”

“What did you just say?” you ask through clenched teeth.

Tommy bares his teeth. “I said your boyfriend is a fuck-up.”

_That’s_ what sets you off.

You lunge forward, taking the lid off your slushie, and dumping it over his head. He gasps loudly and before he has time to truly process it, you twist his arm behind his back, spinning him around, bending him over. He cries out in pain. You never had to use your subduing training techniques before this point, but you’re elated that this is what you use it on.

“Say it again, dickhead, _I dare you_ ,” you spit.

“What the fuck, man?!” Tommy cries out.

“Leave Steve Harrington’s name out of your mouth, you fucking caveman.” You twist his arm back harder and he cries out again. Everyone is staring at you with their mouths open, Steve’s hanging a little lower than everyone else’s. He wants to reach forward and stop you, but he’s in too much shock to move.

You shove Tommy and he lands on his back, and you grab him by the collar, pulling him close to your face. His eyes are wide and the sticky cherry slushie runs down his face. “If I ever hear you talking about him, if you even so much as look his way, I’ll ruin you. No one will even remember you, Tommy Hagan. I’ll obliterate you. Understand?”

Tommy’s brows are knitted together, and he’s terrified.

“ _Understand?!”_ you shout.

“Yes,” he says quietly. You lean down and peck his nose, then let him go, and he falls onto his back again.

“Let’s get out of here,” you mutter to Steve, and after a moment he kicks into gear, running after you.

Steve sits in a shocked silence, mind on autopilot. He ends up driving back to his place, done for the night. He has to sit and think about what just happened for a while.

You’re silent, too. You’d never done anything even remotely like that before. It just felt like someone, or something, had possessed you. You feel guilty and ashamed, which only gets worse the longer Steve is silent.

He pulls into the driveway and shuts the car off. He stares out for a while, then slowly starts to shake his head. He looks at you, a twisted look of amusement on his face. You’re worried, forehead creased.

“Where did you learn that?” he asks.

You pause. “Training?”

“Holy shit,” he breathes, leaning back. “That was _awesome_.”

Relief runs through you. “You’re not pissed?”

“Are you joking?!” he asks happily. “Y/N, no one has ever stood up for me like that. Not a single person. Tommy would only stand up for me because he liked getting in fights.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Holy _shit._ ”

You stare at him with wide eyes. “I just… did what was right.”

Steve gets out of his side and runs to yours, opening your door. He gives you his hands to pull you out and wraps you in a tight hug. You pause before wrapping your arms around him, returning the hug, squeezing him tightly.

“You’re not a fuckup,” you say into his shoulder. “Not even a little bit.”

He buries his face into the crook of your neck. “ _Thank you_.”

You laugh. “If he goes to the police, I’m fucked.”

“He won’t go to the police,” he says, smiling widely, taking a step back. “He’s too scared to admit a girl scared him like that. And anyway, did you _see_ his face?!”

“He looked so stupid,” you laugh.

“What an understatement,” he quips, and recreates Tommy’s expression, making you both double over in laughter.

As you calm down, he pulls you towards him, holding you to him tightly. “Thank you,” he repeats. “I mean it.”

You smile softly, squeezing your eyes shut and wrapping your arms around him. “What are friends for?”


	4. chapter four: heaven knows I'm miserable now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve tip toe around your feelings; You find evidence that might link Chief to the death.

“And so Tommy was like –“ You make a stupid face. “’Oh, look who it is!’ And Steve was like –“ You make an exaggerated frown. “’Oh, hello!’”

“That’s not what I said,” Steve laughs.

“Um, I think I’d know, I was there,” you respond, then continue. “And so Tommy was like, calling me a slut, and – oh, and Carol touched Steve’s hair – and then Tommy got really close to Steve—”

“And Y/N shoved him away, and I tried to stop her, I did –”

“Yeah, but I was really mad, and then Tommy called Steve a fuck up, and that _really_ made me mad, and so I took the lid off my slushie and I went –“ You mimic pouring the slushie over Steve’s head, and he makes a shocked face. “And then I was like –“ You grab Steve’s arm and twist it behind him, gently enough so it doesn’t hurt him.

“Holy shit,” Mike says, leaning forward.

“You did that _to Tommy?!”_ Lucas says in disbelief.

“Oh, that’s not even the craziest part,” Steve says. “Then she was like, ‘Tommy, if I hear you say Steve’s name one more time, I’ll kill you,’ and then, she was like - “ he turns to you, intending on reenacting when you kissed Tommy’s nose, but decides against it. “And then she _kissed his nose!”_

“No way!” a few of the kids gasp in unison.

“It’s true, I was there,” you repeat.

“It was so badass,” Steve says. “I thought she was just gonna tell him to tuck his shirt in or something –”

“Steve, when have I ever –”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” he says, and you slap his shoulder.

“And you didn’t get in trouble?” Will asks nervously.

“Not yet, hopefully never,” you respond.

“Tommy’s got a thing against girls standing up to him, he won’t say _shit._ ” Steve assures.

Your watch starts beeping – it’s 10 pm. You have a shift in the morning, while Steve gets the day off.

“I’ve gotta run, guys,” you say, grabbing your jacket.

“Don’t beat someone up while you’re at it,” Max jokes, and you roll your eyes.

While talking to everyone, you didn’t notice Robin standing in the corner, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. Her eyes narrow even more as Steve grabs your arm when you try to go, telling you to be careful. She watches as your face flushes and your hand tucks a stand of hair behind your ear.

You walk out to your car, and Robin bounds up behind you. “Y/N!”

“Oh, hey,” you say, as if it’s the first time you saw her all night. “What’s up?”

_“What’s up?”_ she asks, scoffing. “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” you ask, laughing nervously.

“Are you kidding? Y/N, when have you ever been physical with someone for someone else?”

You shrug. “I’m emotional.”

Robin laughs. “Well, sure, but you’ve never been outright violent.” She narrows her eyes again. “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

She laughs in disbelief. “You’ve got it _bad_ for Harrington!”

“No, I don’t!” you defend, but your face turns red and your eyes shift over to the right. “We’re just friends.”

Robin sighs. She reaches out for you and pulls you into an embrace, which you return happily. She pulls back, placing her hands firmly on your shoulders. “You need to be careful with him.”

You furrow your brows and open your mouth to question it, but she cuts you off.

“Steve has completely shut down after last year,” she explains. “And I’m very happy he’s letting you in, he must think you’re really special to have done that…. But he’s definitely not ready for any type of relationship. I’m worried you’re going to fall for him, and not be able to have him. You both deserve to be happy – I don’t want this to end badly for you guys.”

“Robin,” you say, irritated. “I’m not catching feelings.”

She rolls her eyes at first, but her expression softens. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not going to,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “Robin, I promise.”

She bites her lip and starts to smile. “You would be cute together, though.”

You blush, smiling, but quickly shake your head. “I’m not into him, Robin. I _promise_.”

Robin clicks her tongue. “If you _do_ get into him, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

=====

The next time you patrol with Steve, you are acutely aware of just how much Robin was right.

Every time Steve would smile, you’d notice how cutely his nose would crinkle. You got goosebumps when he would laugh, and you found yourself laughing at almost everything he said. One time, his forehead creased, and you reached out to smooth it, stopping yourself just in time.

_Keep it together, idiot,_ you tell yourself, diverting your hand to act like you’re rubbing a crumb off of Steve’s shirt.

“What do you think about the Chief?” Steve asks suddenly, making your brows furrow.

“I mean, we’ve agreed he’s pretty odd,” you say. “I don’t have much of an opinion beyond that. Like, he taught me everything I know – how to shoot, how to detain… how to bully guys from high school.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, and you laugh. “What’s your latest problem with him?”

He continues to bite his cheek, and you wait for an answer. Finally, he talks. “Before you got to the scene last week, it was just me and Chief…. Well, those weird government guys were there, too. And… I don’t know. Chief was being really condescending, and he kept deflecting me when I said I thought it was something worse than a suicide. He seems pretty hell-bent on not letting either of us around this investigation, too. I don’t think that’s what we signed up for, do you?”

You shake your head. “I think it’s weird, too. They won’t even let us look at the photographs.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Right. Something really doesn’t seem right with this. And don’t you think it’s weird that he was first on the scene? It’s usually the lower level people who respond first.”

“Damn,” you say, leaning back. “You’re right.”

“I know,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “Something’s up.”

At that moment, a car goes down the road. It wouldn’t be odd, except it was irrefutably Chief’s yellow ’67 Corvette. Your brows furrow and you lean forward. Chief never comes to this side of town – he lives on the outskirts on the very opposite side. You don’t even have to tell Steve your thoughts; he’s right there with you. He quickly puts the car in drive and begins to follow him from a distance.

“We really keep having these coincidences, huh?” you ask. “First Tommy, now Chief.”

“I think he’s heading towards the Source,” Steve breathes.

“The source?” you ask.

“I mean – the crime scene,” he corrects quickly, licking his lips. “You know – the source of the crime.”

That statement doesn’t sit right with you, but you don’t question it.

You follow Chief all the way to the west side of town, on the very outskirts. You watch as he pulls down a side road, and Steve takes another one, so it doesn’t look too suspicious. Your anxiety continues to grow, as does Steve’s, and you notice his jaw clenched tightly.

“Steve, you’re going to hurt yourself,” you say.

“Sorry,” he says, absentmindedly, and unclenches his jaw only slightly.

Steve’s confused. He thought Chief was going to Rimborn, but now they’re on the other side of town. Nothing makes sense, but he thinks something is about to happen. He’s not going to give up now.

A bright building illuminates the end of the road, surrounded by thick woods. A neon sign reading _Bartini_ hangs off of it. Chief’s car pulls up to the front, and Steve continues down the road a ways before pulling over. You both whip around, Steve grabbing a pair of binoculars off the floor.

“Bartini?” you ask. “That’s lame.”

Steve shushes you, and you scoff. “Do you think you can hear them from he—”

“ _Shh!_ ”

You both watch as Chief gets out of his car. He goes into the bar through a side entrance instead of the front. The side door is guarded by two tall people – Steve thinks they look an awful lot like the government men from the other night. He watches as Chief flashes something – it’s too dark to tell what – and Chief enters the building.

“What’s happening?” you whisper.

“He went inside,” Steve whispers back.

“Riveting,” you reply.

Steve turns back around in his seating, letting out a sigh. He brings the binoculars to his lap. You see that same thoughtfulness from earlier. You again wait for him to speak.

“I know it sounds weird. I know it does. But something bad is happening. I want to get to the bottom of this. I wish I could explain this to you, but I _can’t._ And I really need you to believe me on this.” There’s a desperation in his voice that you haven’t yet heard. It makes your heart hurt.

“I trust you,” you say, despite being confused as all hell internally.

And you mean it. You would trust him with your life. Even though his vagueness and attitude are a bit annoying and frustrating, you believe his judgement. You can see in his eyes that he’s not messing around.

“You’re my partner, remember?” you add. “I’m in this with you. I believe you.”

Steve sighs, looking at you gratefully. “We’ve got some sleuthing to do.”

=====

The next few days at the station are spent sneaking around. You both would wait until Chief went to lunch or to a meeting before raiding the office, trying to find anything to work with. You both knew most of the evidence for the case was in the evidence room – ironically, made from Hop’s old office, despite your protests – and that room was under strict lock and key.

While you tried to find things from the investigation, Steve researched building permits for the town at Town Hall. He finds the one for Starcourt Mall and sets it aside. He feels disgust churn in his stomach as he reads Mayor Kline’s signature, signing off on making a capitalist nightmare that nearly killed him and his friends a year ago. A pang of guilt runs through him. He shouldn’t have added you to this mess. If his hunch is right, you could be in serious danger. But he swallows the feeling, knowing he needs your support and help more than anything right now.

Not long after finding the records for Starcourt, he finds the records for _Bartini_. Steve’s heart races as he reads – _Bartini_ was proposed the same day as Starcourt, built by the same company, and also signed off by Mayor Kline. Steve shakes his head, mumbling a “you son of a bitch,” and jumps up from his seat with the records in hand. He wants to believe that the government wasn’t that stupid, that they had realized this coincidence and checked it out. But the other part of him remembers the atrocities of the lab and thinks maybe it wasn’t a mistake at all.

At the same time, you find scans of the photographs from the crime scene. They’re shoved haphazardly into an empty drawer in the main office, and you truly can’t believe your luck. You scan through them carefully for any clues, and you strike gold. In a photograph of the back of the body, you notice a napkin sticking out from the man’s pocket. You grab a magnifying glass and look further – an illustration of a martini glass with an olive inside is printed on it in red ink. The emblem looks familiar, and you think for a moment before realizing it’s the same emblem that was on the _Bartini_ sign.

You jump up and at the same moment, Steve walks in. He looks equally ecstatic and like he’s seen a ghost. He holds up the files with a small smile and settles at his desk. You run over and stand beside his chair as he pulls them out.

“This one is for Starcourt,” he says, placing it down. You scan it over and nod at him.

“And this one is for _Bartini._ ” He places them side by side, and while you notice the similarities, you’re still confused.

“If Starcourt just caught on fire, then why does it matter if they are related?” you ask. “I mean, I know Kline was a crook, but what’s the connection?”

Steve curses under his breath. He forgot you didn’t know the whole story. He briefly considers telling you at least some parts but decides against it. You’d already agreed that you would take the information you were given, and you can’t break that agreement now.

“Just trust me on this,” he says slowly. “I think there’s a connection here.”

“I mean, alright,” you say, also slow. “I do have something that may reinforce your theory.”

You show him the photograph and explain the emblem on the napkin. Steve’s eyes widen and he grabs you, spinning you around. Your heart leaps and races as you laugh. He puts you down, beaming. He still holds on to your arms though, and his warm palms are all you can think about at the current moment.

For a fleeting moment, Steve’s stomach flips, thinking of how beautiful you look when you’re happy. But he pushes those thoughts to the side with an anxious pang in his gut.

“This is it!” he cheers. “This proves it. The bar is involved.”

“Bet you’re happy you let me help, huh?” you ask.

“You’re wonderful,” he says. “I knew I could count on you.”

You feel yourself blush, so you quickly pull away, walking towards your desk. “Do you think the napkin would be in the evidence room?” you ask, looking anywhere but at him.

“Most likely,” he says. “And I know just the way to get in.”

=====

Steve’s idea was admittedly pretty stupid, and a little rude, too.

His plan was simple – flirt with Veronica, who has the key, get her to go in to find the napkin, and bring it to him.

“Veronica’s not an idiot,” you say. Something about the plan makes you feel sick, but you push it down - _again_. “She’s not going to just waltz in and steal evidence for you.”

“You underestimate my charm,” he says. He’s looking into a mirror in the annex and fixing his hair.

“We don’t _need_ the napkin,” you say.

“Oh, but we do,” he replies. “Chief went to that bar last night, remember?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” you say. “I don’t have a memory problem like you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Chief. The bar. Starcourt. Body. Chief goes into a private entrance at the bar – that implies that he is some sort of VIP, right? The bar’s emblem is on the dead person’s body. The bar was made at the same time as Starcourt. Chief probably has something to do with the bar, Starcourt, and the body. He doesn’t want to be caught, so he takes evidence and destroys it. We need to get that napkin before he does.”

The feeling of dread and uncertainty permanently attaches itself to your stomach, and you feel nauseous. “What if you’re wrong? What if Chief isn’t involved?”

He turns around from the mirror to look at you. He did fix his hair up pretty nicely – the handsomeness he exudes sidetracks you for a brief moment.

“Don’t you think he _is_ involved?” he asks.

“I mean, I guess, but Steve, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here,” you say, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “And if we get caught, we’re done for.”

“We’ve been living on the edge for a while now, Y/N.”

“Patrolling on our own is completely different from _breaking into the evidence room_ and _stealing evidence._ ”

Steve sighs. He walks over to you, taking you in his arms again. “Don’t you trust me?”

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. It feels _good_ to be in his arms. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Steve.”

“Do you think so?” he says cheekily, flashing a smile. It’s enough to make your knees weak.

Still, you force yourself out of his grip. “I’m sure _Veronica_ will think so.”

You both go out to the reception desk, meeting with Veronica. Veronica was usually a pretty quiet gal, but when she saw Steve, she could not stop talking. He flashes her the same smile he just flashed you, and your heart equally leaps and sinks.

“Veronica,” he purrs. “What’s been up, doll?” Steve admittedly does not really remember how to flirt with women, but is trying to channel his high school self as best as he can right now.

You scrunch your nose in disgust – _doll?_ – but quickly go back to being pokerfaced.

“Ugh, it’s been so busy today, oh my god. First Chief has a ton of meetings, then Callahan isn’t here, so I have no one to talk to, and did you see what happened on 8th and Oak this morning? What a wreck, probably going to take a while to –”

“Veronica,” Steve interrupts sweetly. “Can I ask you a favor?”

She smiles brightly. “What can I do for you?”

Steve pauses – he didn’t think this far ahead. He looks back at you with his mouth slightly open, then back at Veronica, smiling cockily again. “Any chance you could grab something from the evidence room for me?”

_Now_ you know why this display is sickening to you. Steve’s treating her like a pawn to help him excel in his mission, and it kind of feels like he’s doing the same to you. You remember what Robin said – how he isn’t going to catch feelings – and the impact of those words settle in your stomach like a rock. You are no different from Veronica; just a girl helplessly infatuated with a boy who will never reciprocate, wanting to help him as much as you could in the hopes that _maybe_ he would like you back. These thoughts pull you from the situation unraveling, and you don’t even notice Veronica skipping off.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly, bumping into you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” you say after a pause.

“I got her to go in,” he says.

You force a tight-lipped smile, and his falters. “What’s wrong?”

You bite your tongue, afraid to speak. Is it even worth it to bring it up? Would it give your feelings away? But you decide to do it anyway, because ragging on each other is kind of your brand.

“Just seems kind of mean,” you say slowly.

“What does?”

“Using Veronica to get shit done for you.”

His brows furrow and he shakes his head slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Steve, she’s like, in love with you,” you say nervously, “and you’re using her to break into the evidence room. She could get fired for that, man.”

Realization dawns on Steve’s face, and he looks disappointed with himself. His epiphany calms you, because at least he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

Either that, or he’s just a really good actor.

“I didn’t think of it like that,” he whispers, eyes downcast.

“Yeah,” you say. “Maybe you should reexamine your relationships with wo—”

“Stevie,” Vanessa calls as she walks out of the evidence room.

Steve spins around on his heals, dashing smile plastered on his face again. “Yes, sweetheart?”

It infuriates you that he goes back into this bullshit façade, but you decide to question him on it when you aren’t in front of Veronica.

“No napkins are in there,” she says.

Steve furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“No napkins,” she repeats. “Nothing that even looks like a napkin, actually.”

Steve stills and your mouth falls open. Someone _did_ tamper with the evidence.

“Oh, well, thanks, Roni!” he says quickly, and pulls you back to the annex, leaving a confused but happy Veronica in your wake.

He shuts and locks the door and starts to pace.

“Holy _shit_ ,” you say, stunned.

“We’ve got to go in there,” he says, voice wavering.

“Into the evidence room?”

“No, no, the bar,” he says. He runs his hand through his hair – a nervous tick you’d picked up on – and he taps his fingers against his crossed arms. “Chief took the napkin, I _know_ it. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

You swallow, hard. “And what are we supposed to do there?”

“Get to the bottom of this,” he says. “Find out what Chief goes for, see if there is anything up with it. Try to find out what the connection is, who owns it, who runs it.”

“We’re underage,” you point out, and he deflates. You sigh and add, “But I know a guy.”

Steve spins around. “A guy?”

You sigh again and pull out your wallet. You hand an ID over to him – it’s a fake. Steve looks between it, back at you, then back down at it, mouth open. “You have a fake ID?”

“How else was I supposed to drink when I was at school?”

“You just don’t seem like the type.”

“Does it matter?” you snap, snatching it back. “Look, if we are going in, we have to be disguised to the max. I’m talking wigs and an entire wardrobe change. We _cannot_ be found out, because if Chief finds us, underaged in this bar, we are getting kicked into the sun.”

“Or he could get his Russian cronies to kill us,” he mumbles. His eyes widen and he looks like he regrets it immediately.

You know it’s against the rules to push, but you do it anyway, because how the fuck can you be quiet after that? “ _Russians?_ ”

“I said – I said he would be rushing – rushing to get cronies to kill us.” He laughs sharply. “Uh, damn Y/N, get your hearing checked.”

You narrow your eyes. “If you don’t explain this shit and stop gaslighting me in _five seconds,_ I’m out.”

Steve grabs your hands and pulls you towards him. _This is getting ridiculous_ , you think, as your heart yet again goes crazy over his touch. You look away from him, but he softly says your name, so you look back. You see sincerity in his eyes, and he looks solemn.

“I promise when this is over, I’ll explain _everything,”_ he says. “But I can’t tell you until I know you’re safe.”

“Oh, like you care about me,” you say. You try to smile through it – like it’s a joke - but it’s still a bit painful.

Steve’s brows furrow and his face goes soft. “I’m not trying to use you or Veronica. What I did with Veronica – that was stupid, and you’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. But I really do need your help. I’m not telling you things because they can _really hurt you_. I should never have let you in on this anyway, but I need you. You keep me going, Y/N. You’re….”

He trails off as he takes your face in. The innocence in your eyes, the rosiness in your cheeks, your widened pupils. How beautiful you are throws him off guard again, and he swallows hard, recovering and pushing past his anxiety and attraction. Being with you is simply not an option, and he feels foolish for even having the fleeting thought.

“You’re my best friend,” he finishes. “I couldn’t do this without you. Honest.”

You stare at his chest for a moment before smiling. “I thought Dustin was your best friend?”

“Oh, I forgot about Dustin. You’re right, he’s my best friend.”

You both laugh and the tension dissipates. You sigh and look back up at him. “Saturday night, we go in.”

Steve steps back and offers you his hand, and you shake on it, but you can’t help to notice how nervous his eyes look.


	5. chapter 5 - I know it's over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve head to Bartini to investigate; you pursue your feelings for Steve with devastating results.

Saturday comes around, and you prep for the night. You throw on your disguise, which is just a dress that you typically would not wear and a wig from Halloween a few years ago. You attempt to do some makeup that you wouldn’t typically do as well – Steve said it had to be _good._ Steve _also_ recommended carrying a weapon, just in case – you grab a switchblade and tuck it into a garter that your mother had given you years ago. You find yourself obsessing over how you look, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re worried of being caught or worried that you won’t look good enough for Steve.

Your palms get sweatier the closer you get to his house, and your heart rate picks up. You mentally kick yourself over this, but it’s not like it helps.

You pull up to his house around 10 pm, honking the horn once to signal your arrival. Steve steps out a few seconds later. You can’t see much of him in the dark, but you can make out that he’s carrying something pretty large in his hand. Your brows furrow and you watch as he opens the back door, the back seat illuminated by the light in your car. He throws in a wooden bat, riddled with nails, and shuts the door.

Shocked is an understatement.

“Hey!” he says, climbing into the car.

You can’t talk for a moment. “Steve, what-“

“You look so great,” he says, and he means it. He thinks you look downright breathtaking, not that he would admit that to himself or anyone else.

“No,” you say harshly, turning the lights in the car on. “What the hell is that?” You point to the backseat.

He looks at you innocently. “A bat.”

“Steve, that’s not a bat. That’s a fucking – that’s a war weapon. That’s shit they used to use in medieval times to kill- to kill monsters and shit.”

He is impressed by your accidental accuracy.

“We might need it,” he retorts.

You shake your head in disbelief and laugh slightly. “For what?"

“Just trust me, alright?”

“Who even gave that to you?”

“Jonathan.”

“Jonathan Byers?!”

“Yes.”

You stare at him, slack jawed. _“What?!”_

“Look,” he sighs. “I need you to drop this and just trust me, okay?”

“Okay, but you can’t take that into the bar.”

“I won’t,” he says. “I just – I need it, alright?”

You don’t understand, but he’s your best friend and you care about him, so you relent. It’s now that you notice him, looking sleek in his black duster, sunglasses hanging off his shirt. His hair is slicked back. He looks like a movie star, and it catches you off guard.

“What’s this?” you muse finally, tugging on his jacket.

“It’s my risky business costume from ’84,” he smiles. “Do you like it?”

“No,” you respond, to his surprise. “You don’t look different enough.”

Steve scoffs. “What do you mean? My hair is slicked back, dude.”

You roll your eyes and grab your bag, sifting through it. He watches you nervously, making sure to take his eyes away from looking at your exposed thighs, because it’s weird to look at your friend like that. He looks away sharply and clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. You eventually produce a stick of black eyeliner and red chapstick.

“No,” he says. “No way!”

“You have to!” you plea.

“You are not putting makeup on me,” he huffs. “End of discussion.”

“Steve, stop being so fragile,” you say, exasperated. “Men in makeup look hot.”

He stills. “Do you think?”

“I don’t think, I know,” you say, twirling the eyeliner in your hand. “Now lean over here and close your eyes.”

Steve does as you request, closing his eyes and leaning over to rest his arms on the center console. He laughs awkwardly as you begin. The little lighting in the car isn’t much, but it doesn’t have to be perfect. He has sunglasses, anyway. You quickly put it on, smudging it, explain to him that yes, you need to smudge it, and no, this isn’t a joke.

“Open,” you say, and he opens his eyes.

You’re both just inches apart, and your eyes lock. Your stomach flips and palms sweat. You want to look away, but you couldn’t – you were completely enamored, impressed with his warm brown irises, the speckles of gold within them, how happy and soft he looks as he meets your gaze.

“Um,” you say finally, dropping your eyes down to the chapstick. “You’ll need this, too – it’ll tint your lips.”

“I’m going to look like a vampire,” he mumbles, amused, and you smile gently. You uncap the chapstick, but instead of giving it to him to do himself, you lean over and run it across his lips. His heart skips, but he figures it’s just from surprise. No one has ever applied chapstick on him before – well, not this way. You run it along his lips slowly, making sure to get every crevice. You now notice just how soft his lips look – like pillows, red and lush, as soft as his eyes. Your eyes linger a little too long, and you don’t notice that you slowed down, stopping your swipe half way.

“Uh, Y/N?” he says through the chapstick.

“Oh, shit,” you whisper. “Sorry – I was just – uh – I was thinking about something else.”

He quirks a brow, but doesn’t question it.

Steve’s nervous – no, Steve’s scared shitless. He had the shakes the entire day, considering not going through with the plan. He was horrified at the aspect of getting caught again, but more importantly, he was worried about you getting hurt. He would never be able to live with the guilt of getting you into something dangerous. The very thought of you getting the same treatment he did last year makes his stomach turn, makes him feel faint, makes him breathless. He was momentarily distracted from the fear when he saw you, but it’s back full force as you drive to the other side of town.

You notice his stiffness and the tension in the air. “Steve?”

“I’m scared,” he says, teeth chattering.

Your brows pull together in worry. “Do you want me to pull over?”

“No,” he says quickly. “No – I’ll be alright.”

You know better than to ask for an elaboration. You glance over at him and see his hands shaking, so you grab one and squeeze it. He squeezes back, and it’s a nice gesture – the bond of trust that you both have, solid and strong.

You pull into the parking lot at the bar and shut the car off. You turn to face him fully. He really looks like a vampire with his face drained of all color, terrified, but he swallows the apprehension and smiles. You smile back gently.

“ID?” you ask. He pulls his out and shows it to you – your hook-up was able to be quick and got it to you within a few days. Steve’s fake name was “Ford Skywalker” – you tried to explain that it was a silly name that was way too obvious, but he insisted.

“Weapon?” Your eyes glance to the bat, but he pats his hip and nods.

“Warning phrase?”

“Ghostbusters is on.”

You nod and sigh heavily. “Let’s do this.”

===

Steve is shitfaced within an hour.

You had suggested he try to drink something to get his nerves calmed, but he went a bit overboard. While you socialized and tried to find any clues that something was happening, Steve slammed back beer after beer. He felt lighter, better, _happier_ with each sip, and by the time he was totally slammed, he was nearly in bliss.

Steve walks over to where you’re leaning against a tall table, where you’re nursing your first beer and observing the crowd. The bar was admittedly a bit crazier than you expected, more of a club than anything. Lots of people were dancing, the music was loud; if it weren’t for the potential tie to a murder, you’d think it was a great place.

Steve’s eyes are again drawn to your exposed legs, but also to your exposed neck. He thinks to himself how beautiful you look, how beautiful you _always_ look, how it seems like you don’t even have to put effort into it.

“Hey,” he says as he leans in beside you. You smell him and know he’s gone too far. You open your mouth to scold him, but he cuts you off.

“You see that door over there?” he says, pointing towards a darkened corner. “The one that says ‘pirate’?”

You follow his gaze, eyes hardening when you see the door he is talking about.

“You think a pirate lives in there?”

You turn to look at him, pupils flaring. “I see a door marked _private._ ”

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times, embarrassed in his drunken state. “Uh… that’s – yeah, I said that?”

“No –“

“What did you think I said?” he slurs.

“Steve, you _definitely_ said –“

“Are we gonna go find out if a pirate lives in there or what?”

You sigh out your entire soul and pinch the bridge of your nose. _He_ is the one who suggested going to this bar, and now you’re carrying nearly all the weight of this investigation while he gets hammered. It’s irritating, to say the least, and all the weird things he has done since this started creep into your memory. But he did point out the door, and you hadn’t seen it before, so at least he was good for something tonight.

“Stay here while I go check it out,” you say. “I mean it – stay put.”

He salutes, then adds, “I’ll miss you.”

You ignore the butterflies in your stomach and head over to the door.

Upon closer inspection, it reads “ _VIP – PRIVATE LOUNGE_.” Your brows furrow and you look around before pressing your ear to the door. Of course it’s loud all around you, and you can hardly hear – but you definitely hear some voices behind the door, and the language does not sound like anything you knew. You look around again and drop to the floor, peaking under it. You can see shoes, which is a start, but nothing very helpful. You sigh and dust yourself off, heading back to where you left Steve.

Except he wasn’t there.

You groan and search the crowd. He’s not very hard to find, dancing erratically in the middle of the floor, arms flailing about. You should have known better – of course he was going to dance. He dances all the time when he’s sober; it must increase tenfold when he’s drunk. You push past people to reach him, and he looks happier than you’ve ever seen him. It breaks your heart a bit. You wish he was this happy all the time, this carefree. His eyes reach yours and he grabs you quickly, pulling you to him. You open your mouth to protest, but the song changes.

It’s _Come on Eileen._ It’s Steve’s favorite.

“Oh, fuck yeah!” he shouts, fist punching the air, and he grabs you again, spinning you around before dancing.

Seeing Steve dance sober was a spectacle enough. Seeing Steve dance drunk was almost too much to handle.

His body has no limits. His arms fly out, he spins, he kicks. His head bangs so hard that it must hurt, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have a care in the world – all he notices is the beat, the music. Steve moves all around, crazily, happily, and you can’t help but laugh at the sheer delight he exhibits.

You think he looks beautiful. You think maybe you love him.

He grabs you and spins you again. “Dance with me!”

You decide that you will, letting some stress off of you, too. He flings his arms around your waist as the song slows. You wrap yours around his neck and stare up at him, once again captured by his eyes. He’s caught by yours, too, and he thinks he feels even dizzier while he looks at you, hardly even moving, just taking you in.

As the pace picks up, Steve’s hands slide up, grabbing yours. He clutches them tightly and smirks before spinning you. It garners attention, and you beg him to stop, but he keeps spinning you until the song takes off again. He spins on his own and continues to dance while you laugh and catch your breath. You wish you were still mad at him, but seeing him like this makes you remember why he was so special to you.

The song fades and he turns to look at you. He’s smiling widely, but then his face falls.

“I’m gonna be sick.”

You usher him outside quickly and pat his back as he leans over a set of bushes. He pulls back and wipes his mouth, making your face scrunch. He smiles cheekily. “You’re cute when you’re grossed out.”

“Come on, _Ford,”_ you say, leading him to your car. You get the door for him and he bows, laughing nearly hysterically, before climbing in.

“If you puke in my car, you’re dead,” you warn, and he nods with a thumbs up.

As you drive, his hands reach over to you and rest on your knee. Your heart leaps to your throat, but you try to seem unfazed. “Getting handsy, buddy?”

“Legs,” he responds.

You pause. “Yes.”

“They’re nice,” he says, rubbing circles into your knee. You roll your eyes as you scream internally.

You pull into his house, bat forgotten in the back seat, and you help him inside. He steps inside and shouts, “Daddy’s home!” before reaching into the pockets of his duster and pulling out two cans of pepper spray.

Your eyes follow the cans as they drop to the floor, head racing – didn’t he just point to his hip earlier? He continues to undress, for no apparent reason.

“Hey, hey,” you say, lunging for him before he takes his shirt off. “You’ve got company, bud.”

“Oops!”

Steve reaches down into his pockets and pulls out a swiss army knife and a tactical pen. He reaches into his waistband and produces another knife, similar to the one you have. You’re thoroughly shocked and confused. “What the hell is this all about?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid. “I have to have weapons, Y/N.”

“Where did you even get these? Did Jonathan get you them, too?”

“Nah,” he slurs. “Got ‘em myself after last year.”

Your heart slams in your chest and you want an explanation, but you know you won’t get one. _What the hell happened to him last year that makes him carry around this kind of shit? And that bat?!_

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks. He steps towards you and wraps his arms around your waist. Your cheeks flush but you have no complaints. His hand reaches down and he runs it lightly up your leg. “I know where you keep yours!”

_“Steve!”_

“What?” he asks, genuine confusion written on his features. You step out of his grasp (it was admittedly not that tight) and he seems to forget the incident even happened. You’re disappointed with yourself – disappointed that you wanted more than that, and the heat of his fingers was still felt on your thigh. You shake your head to clear it and you sit him on the couch. After getting him a water bottle and some pills to take in the morning when he inevitably has a hangover, you pull him back up again. You guide him to the bathroom and he brushes his teeth.

He frowns as he looks at himself in the mirror, then grabs a washcloth and wipes the makeup off. “I look like a clown.”

“You are a clown,” you tease, and he smiles, content with the observation. He runs his hands through his hair rapidly to release the gelled-down locks and shakes it out. It’s wild, but quite handsome.

“Better?” he asks.

“That’s up to you, champ,” you say, taking his arm and leading him into his bedroom.

“Did I tell you that you have a really nice house?” you ask, lugging him down the hall.

“Do you wanna tour?” he asks, stumbling a bit.

“I want you to sleep, Harrington.”

You follow his lead to find his bedroom, as there are quite a few doors in his house. You’re surprised at how well kept it is – he even made his bed.

“Thought you’d be a slob,” you quip, and he shakes his head vigorously, but has no verbal retort.

You look away as he changes into a shirt and boxers, instead focusing on putting the pills and water bottle down and getting his bed ready for him. You hear him come up behind you and begin to turn, but he grabs you by the waist and pulls you right into bed with him.

You don’t know if this is your worst nightmare or best dream. You’d always wanted to be close to him like this, but not _like this._ Not while he’s drunk and stumbling, slurring his words together. But the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, pressing you against him, was nearly too much to handle.

“Stay,” he whispers. “Please.”

“Steve,” you whisper back, avoiding eye contact. You know if you look at him that you’re fucked.

“Please,” he repeats, pulling you tighter. Your hands rest on his chest, and you chance a look up.

Big mistake.

To you, his eyes say everything. Steve looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. It’s intense and passionate, yet quiet and contemplative. His lips are quirked up in a smile, and you don’t know if you’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight than him above you, messy hair covering his forehead, eyes locked with yours.

Robin’s warning rings through your head. _“You need to be careful with him.”_

 _“I’m worried you’re going to fall for him, and not be able to have him.”_ Maybe Robin was right – or maybe she was wrong. She’d been wrong before – one time she told you a note was an E flat when it was an F sharp, and one time she told you that it was spaghetti for lunch when it was actually hamburgers. So she could be wrong about this, right? And drunk people are the most truthful, aren’t they? Steve’s being pretty handsy and sweet tonight. Maybe she was wrong.

“Steve.”

He leans in, not to kiss, but because he can’t hear you. 

But _you_ think it’s for a kiss.

“Are you sure?” you whisper, barely audible.

He thinks you’re talking about staying the night.

“Yeah,” he slurs, brows knitted. “Of course.”

You smile, heart soaring. If you’ve ever been this happy before, you don’t remember.

You start to lean in, and Steve’s brows knit together even more, to the point that it hurts. For a second, he’s confused – but then he gets it.

He’s out of the bed in less than a second.

You blink in surprise and sit up, pain and confusion coursing through you. Steve sobers up enough to realize this cannot happen. He sobers up enough to remember why he can’t be with you, why he swallows his feelings, why he has been vague and discreet with you the past few weeks. He remembers why he didn’t hang out with you for a long time.

He remembers why he can’t _have you._

The room is silent before he finally speaks. “What are you doing?”

“I thought –“

_“What are you doing?”_

It feels like a slap in the face. Irritated and hurt, you respond, “Well, I thought you were trying to kiss me.”

He shakes his head, eyes wide. “What? Why?”

You crawl out of the bed, standing on the opposite side of Steve. “Because I asked if you were sure, and you said ‘of course’?”

He blinks, dumbfounded. “No, I didn’t.”

Confusion twists into you deeper. “Yes, you did?”

“Y/N,” he breathes. “I can’t kiss you.”

“Why?” You’re hurt, but more confused than anything. Like Steve is trying to pull a sick joke or something. “You’ve been feeling me up all night – looking at me like –“

“Like what?” he snaps.

You shrink, eyes downcast. “I don’t know.”

“Like what?” he repeats, standing still as a statue. His anger grows and he directs it towards you. “Like what, Y/N?”

You shake your head, desperate. “Like – like you – I don’t know, like you thought… like you _liked_ me.”

He shakes his head again. “Y/N, we’re just friends. We’re friends. I’m sorry if you misinterpreted things.”

Your heart pangs. Your confusion turns to fury. “Why do you always lie?”

“What?”

“Why can’t you be real with me, for one minute? Just _one minute_? Why can’t you tell me what’s going on – why can’t you be real with me?”

He crosses his arms and scoffs. “Want me to be real with you?”

You nod.

“It is impossible for me to love you.”

The silence that falls over the room is deafening. You swear you could hear your heart breaking, splintering apart like wood.

The pause lasts a long time. Finally, meekly, you whisper, “Do you mean that?”

“Of course, I mean it,” he spits, eyes glaring into yours. They aren’t warm anymore; they’re cold and unforgiving. They’re mean. They’re sharp and harsh. “It’s impossible for me to love you, to be with you, to think about you like that. I could never be with someone like you.”

Steve’s voice is unwavering, as is his gaze. He reminds you of stone, rough and painful and cold. The confession, however, is devastating, and it takes a conscious effort for you to keep upright. You swallow hard as a million thoughts race into your mind, as your emotions come and go rapidly.

“I thought you changed,” you finally say, voice cracking. You can’t stop the hot tears from falling onto your cheeks. “I thought you changed, Steve. But you’re the same asshole you were in high school.”

You turn on your heels, beelining for the door. As you swing it open, you look back at him – his face is still nothing but mean and uninviting. You’ve never seen him like that before. “Enjoy being alone again, _your highness_.”

You slam the door behind you but stop yourself from going down the stairs. A part of you thinks he will come out and get you – wrap you up in his arms like he always does, pull you to him, say he’s sorry.

But he never comes.

You descend the stairs slowly, listening with strained ears for any sound of him following you.

Nothing.

You pause at the front door, fiddling with the lock. You click it so that it’s ready to lock behind you. You look back up the steps, but only find darkness. You look forward again and step over the threshold, slamming the door behind you.

Steve crumbles to the ground when he hears the front door close. He puts his head in his hands and sobs, pulling his arms around himself tightly. The image of you, heartbroken, sad, devastated, all because of him, floods through his mind.

He tried to protect you the wrong way, from the wrong people.

He’s not really sure why he’s so upset – it’s not like he’s never lost friends through a big blow out before. And he doesn’t regret pushing you away – it’s what needed to be done to keep you safe. But the emptiness he feels inside himself is greater than he felt when he cut off Tommy and Carol, and he can’t understand. All he knows is that it hurts.

You lean against the steering wheel of your car, absolutely enraged that it still smells like his woodsy cologne. You sit up to wipe at your face and remember the bat in your back seat. You feel the urge to bring it in to him, but you can’t bring yourself to go back in. Instead, you grab a _Smiths_ album from your console – playing it not only because you’d _feel_ it, but also because you know Steve hates them – and blast it as you pull out of his driveway and careen down the road.

You didn’t notice the black car sitting on the corner as you sped off, and you didn’t notice it pull into Steve’s driveway as you left him behind you.


	6. chapter six - the headmaster ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes missing, and you enlist the gang’s help to save him.

The song fades out.

You reach down to your Walkman beside you and rewind, then play again.

_Oh…  
I know I’m unloveable  
You don’t have to tell me  
I don’t have much in my life  
But take it - it’s yours  
I don’t have much in my life  
But take it - it’s yours  
Oh…_

The bed under you is littered with tissues and your eyes just started to dry. It’s 10 in the morning and you hadn’t slept a wink. You’ve been listening to the Smiths for the past 8 hours and there’s no end in sight. The sun shines brightly into your room and you wonder what Steve is doing. You wonder if he’s sorry. You wonder if he meant it. You wonder if you’ll ever get your friendship back.

_I know I’m unloveable  
You don’t have to tell me  
Oh, message received  
Loud and clear  
Loud and clear  
I don’t have much in my life  
But take it - it’s yours_

Through your headphones, you hear the phone ring. You don’t flinch, however, choosing to let it go until it stops. But it starts back up again, and for whatever reason, it seems louder and more urgent. You sigh and rip your headphones off, heading downstairs to the receiver on the wall. You clear your throat and roll your shoulders back, expecting it to be Steve, calling to be an asshole again.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?”

It’s Veronica.

“Veronica, hey,” you say, uncertain. “Are you alright?”

“It’s Steve,” she says tearfully into the phone. Your heart drops to your toes and you lean against the wall. You hear her sniffle before she continues. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” you breathe.

“We got a wellness check this morning to go to his house, his front door was open all night.”

Your heart lurches up now, right into your throat, and you feel sick. Did you leave the door open? No way, you remember closing it purposefully. You locked it, too.

“Chief sent Callahan to check it out, and he’s saying it doesn’t look so good.” Veronica is openly crying now. “He said – he said it looks like there was a struggle.”

“Wait – Chief sent _Callahan?!”_ Anger flares in you; Steve was _your_ partner. You should have been called, not Callahan. And Callahan was virtually incompetent. It all left a bad taste in your mouth.

“Yeah, he sent Callahan,” she says, confusion lacing her voice. “He said he didn’t want anyone else to go except Callahan, Powell, and some of the other guys. Y/N, you gotta get over there, for my sake. I’m freaking out over here.”

“Chief doesn’t want me to go?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Your eyes narrow as you stare at the wallpaper of your house, trying to swallow your rage. “I’ll head right over there, Veronica, stand by.”

You slam the phone down and run to get dressed. You don’t even bother brushing your hair or your teeth, you just take off, anxiety clutching you. You are relieved that he lives so close, so it’s only a five-minute drive to get there, if that. The place is swarming with cop cars, sealed off with yellow tape. The neighbors are standing on their porches, watching with worry. It pisses you off, but you don’t have time for that. You duck under the tape and head towards the door.

The door had obviously been kicked in – you can see the wood splintered. When you walk inside, it’s chaos. There are multiple policemen there, and some of the men in black suits who were at Brimborn when the body was found. You nearly collapse. You grab onto the wall as you survey the room. You see a photographer photographing the weapons Steve had dropped last night, and you laugh weakly. You push yourself off the wall and walk over.

“Those are Steve’s,” you say. “He had those last night.”

Callahan, who was standing nearby, turns to look at you. “You look like hell, Y/N. Have you slept?”

“Why didn’t anyone call me?” you hiss. “Steve is my partner. I only found out from Veronica.”

“Chief didn’t want a new person on this case,” he says, shrugging.

You scoff and gesture to the room, filled with people who had never been on a case before. Callahan shrugs again. “Maybe Chief is a misogynist.”

You want to punch him right in the face but stop yourself. With a heavy sigh, you start to tell him about last night.

“Steve and I – we hung out last night,” you recall. “He uh – he showed me these weapons, and he just – he put them down, here. And then he was going to bed, and I left, and I _know_ I locked the door, and I know that I shut it.”

Callahan nods. “What time did you leave?”

“Maybe two?”

“Call came in around seven,” he explains. “Neighbor saw his door was wide open but that his car was still in the drive.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I don’t understand –“

But then it hits you.

They probably followed you from the bar. They probably waited until you left to go grab him.

And his bat was in your car, his weapons on the living room floor. He had no protection.

_It was your fault._

Feeling sick, you grab onto Callahan, who slowly sits you on the floor. His face is contorted in confusion, and a few other police, including Powell, surround you, brows furrowed.

“You don’t look too good, Y/N,” Powell says, concerned. “You should head home.”

“No,” you say, dragging yourself up. “I’m going to the station.”

===

You whip the main door open, flying past Veronica, who gets up to trail after you. You hold your hand up to her and she relents, heading back to her desk and sniffling. You burst into Chief’s office, and he’s simply sitting there, smoking a cigar. The rage comes up hot and quick, and you can’t help yourself when you fly off the handle.

“What the _hell_ is your problem?!”

Chief sighs, sitting his cigar down. You slam the door shut. “He was my partner, Chief. My partner. And you – you call _Callahan_ to investigate? Are you joking? Do you think this is some sick fucking _joke?_ ”

He is silent, still, letting you continue your tirade.

“Even if he wasn’t my partner, you know he was my best friend. My best friend is missing, and you don’t even have the – the _thought_ to call me? I have to wait for Veronica to call me, crying, because you sent the most incompetent person to investigate? I was with Steve last night, I know he -“

“You were with him last night?”

Your cheeks burn. “Yes. I saw him last night.”

Chief leans back in his chair. He analyzes you, and you hate it. You feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“How do I know it wasn’t you who did something?”

“Are you joking?” you ask, offended.

“What did you do last night?”

You take in a sharp breath, calculating if you should tell him. Steve thinks Chief is behind it all, and maybe he is – but what else are you supposed to do? It might be important that you were at that bar last night. Maybe it _did_ have something to do with his disappearance.

You swallow hard. “Last night, we went to that bar on the edge of town.”

Chief’s face is unwavering.

“And I think – I think someone might have… followed us from there.”

“So, you two, _underaged_ , went to a bar last night.”

You nod once.

“Why?”

You don’t know how to tell him without outright saying _hey, we think you are in kahoots with bad people and are trying to destroy the town._ So you go with, “We think people at the bar might have had something to do with the body.”

“You two were doing your own investigations.”

You nod once, again.

“Behind my back.”

Your cheeks burn once more. “You know that Steve thought it wasn’t a –“

“Steve has been through a lot,” Chief says. “Steve doesn’t know –“

“You never even gave him a _chance!”_ you cry. “You brushed him off and now he’s missing, and you can’t even bother with an actual investigation –“

“You will _not_ talk to me like that!” he roars, standing up.

His anger only fuels you, though. “You’re a real asshole, you know that? You know everyone wishes it was still Hopper, don’t you?”

“You’re too emotional, you know _that?”_ he asks, glaring. “Don’t think I didn’t hear about what you did to Tommy Hagan.”

The color drains from your face and your heart lurches. After a moment you ask, “What are you talking about?”

“Carol Perkins came in the night it happened,” Chief spits. “Told me that you used your submission techniques on a _civilian,_ all because he insulted your boyfriend.”

You scoff, but it’s a bitter feeling to be reminded that he isn’t yours. “Steve is _not_ my –“

“And now you’re here, yelling at me, _your boss_ , your _mentor_ , because you think _I’m_ incompetent?”

You can only stare at him in silence.

“You’re too emotional, Y/N,” he repeats, sitting back down. “I tried. I tried to make this work. I wasn’t going to say anything about what you did to Hagan. I thought it was a one-time thing. But emotional people don’t make good cops. Y/N. Your emotional outbursts aren’t very becoming of a _competent_ investigator.”

Your stomach drops, and you know what’s coming.

_“You’re fired.”_

It’s silent. You feel like you left your body. You can hardly breathe or think.

“You can come pack up your things tomorrow.”

Your eyes look to the floor. You push back tears and press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. You turn on your heel quickly and walk out, slamming the door shut behind you again. It feels like your world is flipped. You lost your best friend and your chances at a future all in the span of an hour. Now you couldn’t even help the investigation, because you were _too emotional._ Chief was right.

But you weren’t going to stand back and let Steve be hurt or killed, wherever he was. You were going to find him, with or without the station’s help.

You pull the door open and step outside, but Veronica catches you. You look back at her. She has tears in her eyes, and they are bloodshot. Her hair is a mess. It strikes you that she probably looks like a mirror image of you. Another girl who loves and cares about Steve, wants him safe and sound, wants him _found._

She suddenly shoves something into your hand. “Take this.”

Your brows furrow and you look down. It’s a plastic bag with a napkin in it. _The napkin._

Your eyes shoot back up to hers. “What – how –“

“It was in Chief’s desk,” she says, voice thick with anxiety. Her eyes dart around as if she’s scared to be caught – and she is. “Found it this morning before he came in. I figured – if Steve thought it was so important – so I looked for it –“

Your head spins. Chief did take this napkin out of the evidence room. He hid it. Steve was right. _Holy shit, Steve was right._

“Veronica,” you say, grabbing her shoulders. Your eyes are hardened, determined. “I promise I’m going to find him.”

She nods and gives you a quick, tight hug, before heading back inside. You shove the plastic bag into your pocket and rip out of the parking lot, heading towards your house. You know you need to find out what happened last year. You need to figure out what Steve was hinting at all those nights you spent patrolling.

You run to your phone, and it rings right on time.

“Hello?” you ask, breathless.

“Where have you been? We’ve been calling you for the past hour.” It’s Robin, and she’s pissed, but her voice as an anxious edge to it. “It’s all over the news – what happened? What’s going on? Do you know anything?”

“Robin,” you choke out. “I need you to tell me what happened last year.”

She pauses for a long time. “Meet at Mike’s house tonight. Five o’clock.”

===

Everyone gathers into the basement. Whether you had information or not, you planned on going back to the bar to figure out what the hell goes on behind closed doors. You had changed into another outfit, leaving your uniform in a heap on the floor of your bedroom. You tucked your knife back into your garter, the same as you did the night before. You remember the feeling of Steve’s fingers on your bare skin and swallow the feeling of rejection that sits in your throat.

Truth be told, you were about to lose it. The emotions of everything that happened were just sitting within you, waiting to be given _just enough_ attention to activate the waterworks. You were exhausted, too, coming up on 36 hours being awake, but you couldn’t rest. Not until you found Steve.

You clap once to get everyone’s attention and start. “They put Callahan on the case, and they fired me. Steve’s house was a mess, so there were signs of struggle, but that’s all I know in regard to the investigation.”

“You got fired?” Robin asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sigh. “You all know we’ve been patrolling, right?”

They nod.

You reach into your jacket pocket and pull out the plastic bag Veronica had given you. “We followed Edwards to a bar on the edge of town a while back, and last night we went to it. Steve pointed out this private lounge, and there’s a side entrance that Edwards went through the other night. I _assume_ it’s for the lounge.” You sigh. “I don’t know what happens inside. But I do know that Edwards tried to hide this piece of evidence that was on the body – it’s a napkin with the bar’s logo on it.” You pause. “I think Chief and this bar are up to something. I think whoever runs this bar took Steve.”

Everyone is silent.

“But Steve hasn’t given me a lot of information. I know he was involved in the fire at Starcourt, but he keeps insisting the same “bad people” who did _that_ are behind all of _this_. And I don’t know what he means.”

A murmur falls over the room, and you clap again. “I need you guys to tell me what the hell happened last year, because that’s the only way I’m going to be able to get to the bottom of this. Steve was right about some things, so I – he’s probably right about this, too.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then a cacophony of voices start, mixing together, making your head hurt. You hear “Russians”, “mall”, “Will”, “mindflayer”, “Billy” – all kinds of words that made no sense together.

“Hey, hey!” you say, clapping your hands together. “One at a time, please!”

“Last year, the mall didn’t burn down,” Dustin says. “The Russians had a base underneath it –“

“And Steve, Dustin, Lucas’ sister and I stumbled on it –“

Max cuts Robin off. “And the Russians opened the Gate – it’s a portal to the Upside Down –“

“Which is where intergalactic monsters reside,” Lucas explains. “And they were going to use the Upside Down for warfare, I guess, but –“

“My mom and Hopper called this guy, Doc Owens, and he came with the military and shut it down,” Will finishes.

You stare, mouth open. Finally, you say, “So – _what?_ What does _Dungeons and Dragons_ monsters and – places – have to do with this?”

“That’s just what we call them,” Mike says impatiently. “Keep up.”

“So there’s an intergalactic portal in Hawkins,” you say slowly. “that the Russians opened. And they were going to use its powers for… warfare?”

El nods silently.

You nod slowly, trying to keep up, as Mike said. “Steve said that the same company that built Starcourt built this bar, and Mayor Kline signed off on it. So Steve must have thought that the Russians are also running this bar that the Chief frequents.”

Everyone nods in agreement.

You curse under your breath. “Ch- _Edwards_ must have known about Steve being onto him and wanted him gone. So… we all can agree the Russians _probably_ have him, and Edwards is probably working with them?”

Everyone nods again.

“Phenomenal, that’s just great,” you mutter, running your hand down your face. You can’t believe god damn Russians are in your town, you can’t believe Steve dealt with them before, and you can’t believe they kidnapped him - or killed him - because he was actually _onto_ them. But it all makes sense now; Steve’s apprehension on letting people in. They’d probably been watching him for a while, and he was trying to protect you from being in trouble with them. Steve’s anxiety, Steve’s inability to believe everything is fine. Why he wanted to be a cop in the first place. It all suddenly adds up. 

Everyone is silent for a moment before Max pipes up. “That was a classic Steve move. You know, you and Steve really would go well together.”

It stings.

“Yeah,” Lucas adds. “Why _aren’t_ you together?”

It hurts.

“That, um… that ship sailed last night, actually,” you confess, throat dry. “I tried to… but it didn’t work out.”

Dustin gasps softly. “You told him you liked him?”

“Can we _please_ get back to the rescue mission?” you groan, imagining Robin telling you _told you so._

“What’s the plan?” El asks quietly.

“I’m going to go back to the bar and try to get into their private lounge,” you say, starting to pace again. “Then I can figure out what happens there, at least. And I can knock it off the list of places to look.” You sigh. “That’s my only lead right now.”

“What do we do?” Dustin asks.

You turn and look at him, brows furrowed. “You stay here.”

“No way,” Robin says, pushing off the wall she was leaning on. “We’re not going to sit here while _you_ go for him. We are helping.”

Everyone agrees, and you huff, irritated.

“Look, if you want to help, you stay _here_ and help me,” you say. “Will, could you get Owen’s number?”

“I mean, I can ask my mom –“

“Great. Does anyone have a walkie I can borrow?”

Lucas hands you his and you nod in thanks. “We communicate through these.”

“No way!” Robin says. “We aren’t going to sit here –“

“Robin –“

_“No!”_

You have an intense stare down with her. You try to use your eyes to convey they severity of the situation. But the truth is that you have no idea what they’ve seen, the terrors they lived through. You only know a third of the story, if that.

“You’re not the only one who loves him,” Robin says quietly. “We love him, too. He’s our friend. Friends have each other’s backs.”

You stare at her for another long moment before sighing. You bite your cheek and think for a moment. “ _Alright_ , here’s how it’s going to go.”

You lay out the plan. Dustin and Robin will come with you to the bar. You wait until nighttime to move. They’re going to distract the bouncers at the private entrance, allowing you to slip inside. When Robin and Dustin lose the attention of the bouncers, they go back to the car. All parties have a walkie to communicate with. Will is to get Owen’s call number and have it on standby at the Wheeler’s house with the rest of the gang. If there is something bad happening, he calls and alerts them. But he waits either for your signal or for half an hour to pass with no contact. The others are irritated that they can’t come – like, ridiculously irritated – but El says that it’s “halfway happy.”

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Mike asks. “Can you do this on your own?”

“I’ve been wrong before,” you say with a bitter smile. “But I’ve got the training.”

You go over the plan a few more times before having Robin and Dustin come out with you to your car. They seem content with their close involvement, and you hope they don’t try to manipulate you into letting them do _more_. Dustin opens the back door and gasps.

“The bat,” he says softly, then looks at you. “What’s it doing in here?”

“He left it in here last night,” you whisper, guilt running through you again. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Maybe if he had it, if I ran it in to him….”

“Hey,” Robin says softly, gripping your arm. Her gaze his warm and comforting, and for the first time in the past day, you smile.

“You didn’t know,” she says. “You didn’t know. It’s alright. We’re going to help him now.”

You take the bat out and place it in the trunk. “I really hope he’s where I think he is.”

“One step at a time,” Robin says gently.

You shut the trunk and straighten, looking at your new partners. They’re ready and willing to help; smart and cunning, quick and trusty. You sigh and hold your hand out.

“Let’s do this,” you say, and they pile their hands on yours, Dustin smiling toothily and Robin smiling gently.

You hope you don’t screw this up.


	7. chapter seven - well I wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve learns what’s been going on in Hawkins; You head to Bartini to find and rescue him.

Steve wakes up with a jolt, gasping. The bright lights in the room make him jerk backwards and cover his eyes. He’s hungover, for sure, and the stark white of the room doesn’t help. He’s on the floor, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He furrows his brows before it all comes back to him.

After you’d left, he heard the door open again. He thought maybe it was you and threw some sweatpants on, intending on telling you once again to get lost, despite his weak and crying state. But instead of you, he was met with tall men speaking Russian. Steve started to panic, instinct kicking in as he started to fight back. He punched and kicked but they were sloppy and weak. One hit him with the butt of their gun, and he blacked out.

Now he’s here, in a bright room, confused and in pain.

Steve’s confused because he isn’t tied down. He isn’t chained to a chair. He’s free to roam within this large room, equipped with only a table, two chairs, and an ashtray. There are mirrors everywhere; he knows they’re two-way. His paranoia spikes upon the realization that he’s probably being watched, but he puts on a brave face and starts to shout over his headache.

“Hey, dickheads!”

He pounds on the glass with no response. He goes to the door and tries the handle in vain, then goes back to the glass. “I’m awake, assholes!”

The lack of a response, the lack of violence, makes his head spin. He’s painfully disoriented by every single thing happening – or, not happening. He’s not used to the lack of punches or chaos, and it makes him feel ill. He slips into one of the chairs at the table and puts his head in his hands, trying to breathe deeply. He remembers the process you taught him for when he feels panicked, and he goes through it – five things he can hear, four things he can see, three things he can smell – this one was difficult – two things he can feel, one thing he can taste. He does this as he takes in gulps of air, and he’s soon composed enough to be able to sit upright. Steve’s heart pangs painfully as he remembers your hands on his in his car that night. Back before all of this _bullshit_ happened. Back before he fucked everything up.

The door bursts open and Steve jumps to his feet. Men in green uniforms file in with guns, and behind them comes Chief Edwards, still wearing his uniform from duty that day. Anger flares in Steve, twisting in him sharply. He flinches, fists clenched, but stays still. The men stand beside Edwards, who stares coolly at Steve, hands in his pockets. His back is straight as an arrow and he glares back at Steve.

“Take a seat,” Edwards says. Steve remains motionless, arms crossed. The men stride towards him and Steve flinches as they grab him, pulling him towards one of the chairs at the other end of the room. They throw him down and he winces, pain shooting through his head. Edwards makes a motion with his hands and the guards walk out, clicking the door shut behind them.

Edwards walks towards Steve, continuing their staring contest. He pulls a cigar out and lights it, taking a slow inhale, and exhaling with his eyes closed. He opens them back up and chuckles at Steve’s continued glare.

“You were right,” Edwards starts. He doesn’t take a seat, but paces. “It wasn’t a suicide.”

 _No shit_ , Steve thinks.

“You were right about the bar, too. And the napkin. Right about it all.” Edwards turns on his heel and looks at Steve. “Want me to tell you everything?”

Steve stares bitterly for a moment before nodding slowly. He wants to know what happened, what is happening – even if he probably won’t make it out alive, anyway. He wants to know why he isn’t tied up, or beaten, or bloody.

“ _Bartini_ was a front, like Starcourt. Signed off and supported by Kline, poor bastard… but built by the Soviets. Normal bar at the top, whole other world at the bottom. That’s where we are now, actually. Not too far down, but down far enough.”

Steve’s brows furrow as he mulls the statement over. Were they in a base like Starcourt had, miles underground? Were they only a _bit_ underground?

“You might remember what happened in 1984. The tunnels built underground.”

Steve leans forward slightly, expecting more of an explanation. But when Edwards gestures around him, Steve gets it. They’re in the tunnels. It makes Steve’s stomach drop and knocks the air out of him, and he clenches the side of the table, making Edwards chuckle again.

“Amazing what can happen in two years, huh? All they had to do was find the farthest corner and build on it. Use the bar as a meeting place, a distraction, and bam!” Edwards claps his hands together and Steve jumps, terrified. He relaxes after a moment, but his jaw stays clenched tight.

“That man didn’t commit suicide. He stumbled into our meeting, too drunk for his own good.”

Steve becomes nauseous and he leans heavily into the table.

“It was easy to get him into a car. Drove to Brimborn and –“ he mimics shooting a gun and Steve shakes, a hand going up to his mouth. Edwards smiles at him. “Don’t worry kid – he didn’t feel a thing.”

Edwards flicks the ash from his cigar onto the floor and brings it up again, taking another long drag. “You weren’t very sly, you know. I know you sent Veronica into the evidence room to get that napkin.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t so slick either,” Steve mumbles.

Edwards laughs. “He speaks!”

Steve shakes his head and rests it in his hands. His mind is spinning, and he takes some deep breaths to try to calm down. Edwards gives him some time, smoking as he waits. Finally, Steve lifts his head and looks at him. “Why?”

“Why not?”

It’s a simply answer, but one that makes Steve’s blood boil. “No, I want an _answer_ , god dammit. Why did you do all of this? Why are you such an asshole?”

Edwards lifts his chin, looking at Steve in the eyes. “Because I can be. Don’t you remember what that was like?”

Steve feels like he’s been punched, and he recoils from the comment. “You don’t know me.”

“I trained you, didn’t I? Taught you everything you know. I’ve learned a lot about you, Steve. I learned that you’re only here because you’re trying to run away from who you were before. But you know what?” Edwards walks towards Steve, towering over him. “You’re still that same kid from years ago.”

“You don’t know me,” Steve repeats, louder this time. He feels his heart hammering in his chest and his fists clench again, eyes narrowing bitterly.

“And it’s a shame Y/N got involved with you,” Edwards continues. Steve’s breath hitches at the mention of you and his eyes shoot downward in guilt. “She had some real potential before you got her involved in all of this. She was my favorite, you know. I taught her everything. And she _let me_. But this morning – you wouldn’t believe it. She came in and accused me of having something to do with all this!”

Edwards slams his hand on the table and Steve jumps again before standing and shoving him away, anger and guilt raging in him. “Don’t get her involved in this.” He doesn’t fight Steve back, which infuriates him.

“I don’t think I did,” Edwards says smoothly, poking Steve in the chest with his finger. “I’m pretty sure _you’re_ the one who involved her in this.”

Guilt floods through Steve and he staggers back, sitting again. “Did you hurt her?”

“Me? No. You though….” Edwards smiles sadly. “Should’ve seen her when she came in today. Looked like she hadn’t slept, hair was a mess. Came in defending you to the death… but you couldn’t do the same for her, huh?”

Steve pushes his tongue against the roof of his mouth to hold back the tears. He looks away again, unable to keep eye contact. His eyes train on the tile of the floor while Edwards continues.

“What happened last night, Harrington? Did you break another heart?”

Steve stays silent. The less he says, the better.

“Either way,” Edwards says after a moment. “I fired her. So _hopefully_ she doesn’t come looking for you.”

“You _fired_ her?”

Edwards smiles sadly. “Guess she has you to thank for that, too, huh?”

Steve is stunned into silence. This was probably worse than any physical torture they could have thrown on him. The inner turmoil reminds Steve of the lack of physical torture he’s gotten so used to. He weakly asks, “Why aren’t you hurting me?”

“There are other ways to, kid,” Edwards says. He leans over and puts his Cigar out on the ashtray sitting on the table and straightens. “You’ll see soon enough.”

He turns on his heel to leave but Steve stands and grabs the back of his shirt. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” Edwards says, shrugging out of Steve’s grip. “Soon enough.”

When Edwards leaves, the door clicks shut, and the lights go off. Steve is left in pitch black and silence, and he falls into a heap on the floor. Anger and guilt cut through him like knives, quick and sharp and painful. His head aches from more than the hangover. His thoughts race in his mind and he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes to hold back the tears.

He went through this entire investigation just to get kidnapped and probably killed. All that time and energy wasted. All the danger he put you in – for nothing. Steve’s not certain what Edwards meant by his statement, but he hopes it has nothing to do with you. He hopes you’re safe at home, eating ice cream and grieving the happiness he never gave you.

He hopes you’re not getting more involved.

===

“Ready?”

You nod at Robin, trying to steady your hands. You were scared shitless, literally going into this blind, hoping you don’t get shot down the moment you go inside. Luckily you had your gun under the seat and you grabbed it, keeping a firm grip on the handle. You’d never had to use it outside of training, but you weren’t opposed to using it tonight.

“Alright, one more time,” Dustin says. “Robin and I distract the guards –”

“They’re called bouncers.”

Dustin blinks. “Is that really what’s important right now?”

You frown and look away. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He clears his throat purposefully and starts again. “Robin and I distract the _bouncers_ by causing a scene. We’re going to shout, throw rocks, whatever. When the bouncers run after us – assuming they do – you sneak in and find out what goes on in there.”

“And you two circle back to the car when you lose the bouncers and we’ll stay in touch,” you add, and they nod.

You’d parked the car about half a mile away from the bar, just to be safe. It was nerve wracking to walk that far to almost certain death, but the three of you had agreed that it was the safest option. Every step felt like a moment closer to the unknown, and the panic rises in your gut. It’s like the Yellow Brick Road to Hell. Dustin notices your nervousness and he loops his arm through yours, Robin repeating the motion on your other side. You smile sadly and laugh.

“At least Steve brought me new friends, if nothing else,” you say with a sniffle.

Robin squeezes your arm. “I’m glad dingus brought us together, too.”

“If Steve lives through this, I’m giving him hell,” Dustin says. “He’s such an _idiot_. I can’t believe he wouldn’t like someone as cool and as pretty as you.”

“Dustin?” you say weakly.

“Yeah?”

“Now’s not a good time.”

“Sorry.”

“Look,” Robin says, kicking some gravel. “I want to teach you some phrases that might help you down there.”

Your brows furrow. “You know Russian?”

“No time to explain. Listen. ‘No’ sounds like ‘nyet’. ‘Yes’ sounds like ‘da’.”

“Tell her how to say Silver Cat,” Dustin rushes. “That might help.”

“Silver cat?” you question.

“That was the name of their operation under Starcourt, like a secret code. It might help. It’s something like… _serebryanyy kot_? Am I saying that right?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

“How don’t you remember? You listened to that tape just as much as me.”

“Look, Robin, my goal wasn’t to _learn_ , it was to –“

“Okay!” you interrupt. “Sabrini cox or whatever.”

“No, it’s like, _serebryanyy kot –_ “

“Yeah, sure Rob, I got it.”

You see the neon lights of _Bartini_ in the distance, and sigh heavily.

“If I don’t call back within half an hour, at any time, call Owens, and get the hell out of here.”

You can sense their apprehension. You stop walking and look at them both, hands on your hips. “I mean it. No sitting around and trying to be heroes. There’s no time for that, alright? If there are actually Russians here, we don’t have time to act like we are bigger than we are.”

“I assure you, we can manage,” Robin says, and Dustin nods beside her.

“You don’t even know half of what we’ve gone through,” Dustin adds. “You know, like, a quarter of it.”

“I still don’t want you playing heroes, okay?”

They both roll their eyes and continue walking. They start to pick up large rocks on the side of the road. Throwing rocks and shouting isn’t the best idea, but it’s all you can think of in a short period of time. Dustin promises he’s got good aim, and Robin agrees.

“It can be surprisingly simple with these guys,” Robin assures. “They’re morons.”

“Assuming they’re Russians,” you mumble, but you’re pretty positive that they are.

You all slip into the tree line as you get closer, hearts pounding and breath hitching. Robin and Dustin seem more relaxed than you; you assume that’s just what happens after a while of dealing with stuff like this.

“Ready?” Robin asks again. You squeeze the handle of your gun and nod. Robin and Dustin share a glance and a nod before taking off, sprinting silently to the other side of the road, closing in on the bar. They duck behind a car on the street and after a moment, Dustin jumps up, throwing a rock at the bouncers. It narrowly misses one and you want to look away, but you can’t. You watch as the bouncers stiffen, then turn towards the road. Robin jumps up this time and throws another rock, and the bouncers take off towards them. You slink back into the tree line more as Robin and Dustin sprint off in the other direction, bouncers on their tails.

“Jesus,” you whisper. “That was easy.”

You slink out from behind the trees and run towards the door, thankful that it’s unlocked. You take a deep breath and step in, gun raised. To your surprise, the room is empty, but it’s filled with cigarette smoke – people must have just left. You lower your weapon and look around for a moment, still stiff. The walls are painted crimson, and the floor is checkered in black and white. A few black couches line the room, and at the very back, there’s a door that blends in with the wall. Your breath hitches and you take a step towards it, but it suddenly opens, revealing a young man in a green uniform.

You both freeze, staring at each other in shock, and then you raise your gun at him. He lifts his hands in surrender, shaking slightly, and you realize he probably has some useful stuff on him.

“Your clothes!” you say, tugging on your shirt. You point to yourself. “Give them to me!”

He seems confused so you twitch your gun a bit. “Clothes!”

He shakes his head and you sigh, stepping towards him. “I’m sorry, man,” you say before pistol whipping him, sending him to the floor. You sigh again – poor bastard – but you quickly start to rummage through his belongings. You pull his uniform off and put it on. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do. You search the pockets and find two key cards. You keep one in your pocket and stare at the other one uncertainly before slipping it into the waistband of your underwear. You figure it’s probably smart to hide one in case you get caught. You grab his hat last and stride over to the door.

When opened, it’s not a door at all; it’s actually a large elevator with red padded walls. You step inside and shut the door behind you. You see a pad next to the buttons and swipe a card over it. It lights up green and you press the only floor button on the panel. The elevator lurches and it slowly starts heading down.

You grab your walkie talkie and hold it up. “This is Juliet, does anybody copy?”

“Goonies speaking, copy that,” you hear Mike say. “Don’t forget to say over when you’re done speaking. Over.”

You sigh heavily. “I know how to use a walkie talkie, Mike, I’m in the force. _Over_.”

“Good to hear, Juliet. What’s your 20? Over.”

“I’m inside and on an elevator. I think I’m going underground. I’ll keep you updated. Over.”

“Copy that.”

You turn it off and wait for the elevator to stop. You turn the handle and step out into a brightly lit hallway. You soon realize that wherever you are is like a maze, with multiple hallways branching out of one hub. You roll your shoulders back and move forward, not sure what else you _could_ do except keep moving until something happens.

As you walk, you think about Steve. You’re actually kind of pissed that you’re about to break him out, assuming he’s here. You’ve done so much for him: threatened, gotten fired, wasted countless nights in a car staring at nothing, and now you’re breaking and entering to save his ass. The worst part is that you’re not expecting or even _wanting_ an apology – you just want him safe. You want him out of wherever he is, and you want him out alive. You’re still fond of him despite everything, but what difference does it make?

You slip into closets and wait for people to pass before continuing. You’re running blind, each hallway or hub more confusing than the last. But you finally step into a hub that’s different from the others. The lights are much dimmer and it’s filled with many rooms that are locked from the outside. You know immediately it’s got to be interrogation rooms, and you figure it’s your best bet.

“Juliet to Goonies, do you copy?”

“Goonies copy, what’s going on? Over.”

“Dynamic Duo copies too, over,” you hear Dustin say, and you sigh, relieved at their safety.

“I think I found interrogation chambers. Going to check them for… _Romeo_. If I don’t radio back in fifteen, call Owens. Do you have the number? Over.”

“My mom has it. She’s at standby, but very confused and concerned, over,” Will says.

You sigh and close your eyes. “Tell Joyce what’s going on. Make sure she knows I’m here, and St- Romeo might be, too. I don’t want anyone coming in here, guns blazing, killing us. Do you copy? Over.”

“Copy that,” Will says, although he sounds fearful.

“The Dynamic Duo is ready for assistance when necessary! Over,” Dustin says.

“Thanks guys, I’ll keep you updated as I can. Remember if there’s no transmission in fifteen, call Owens. Copy?”

“Copy that,” Mike says.

“Godspeed,” Dustin and Robin say in unison.

You turn the walkie off again and start towards one door that was locked. You swipe the key card and open. Lights on, empty. Next one – lights on, empty. And the next one – lights on, empty. Each door you open twists your gut a little tighter, and you find it hard to keep looking. The fourth door you try opens and it’s pitch black inside. Brows furrowed, you take a step in, and you’re immediately ambushed. Someone swipes your feet out from under you and tackles you, trying to pin your hands beside you. You kick and twist, but the person is way stronger than you, pinning your legs down as they lay on you.

“Get off!” you shout, and your attacker immediately does so, which gives you whiplash. You sit up and a hand reaches out, running down your face, making you wince.

 _“Y/N?!”_ they gasp.

Your heart stops. _“Steve?!”_


	8. chapter eight - what difference does it make?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blow-out with Steve leads to confessions, despite getting your ass kicked.

Steve realizes two things at once.

1\. He’s _really_ pissed at you.

2\. He’s in love with you.

He lets himself focus on the “in love with you” revelation for a split second and pulls you into a tight hug, which is nice for a moment. For a second you think maybe he has repented his ways, but then he pulls back and pushes you.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses.

“I’m saving your ass!” you say, shoving him back. “What’s it look like I’m doing, shopping?”

“You can’t be here!” he says. You can nearly make out his twisted face in the darkness. “They’re going to –“

And then a third revelation hits him – this was the plan all along. This is what they meant by hurting him in another way. They’re going to kill you.

Steve hoists you up off the floor then, shoving you towards the door. “Please, I – I need you to go.”

“Steve, leaving without you isn’t an option,” you seethe. “I didn’t just have a bunch of 14 year-olds and Robin help me break into a Russian base for you to tell me to get lost!”

He gasps. “You got the kids involved in this?!”

“Yeah – by the way, thanks for keeping that really helpful secret from me!”

He shakes his head, _stressed_ being an understatement. “I’ve got this!” He runs a hand through his hair, heart hammering in his chest.

“You’ve got this?! By – by sitting here and twiddling your thumbs?” You shove a finger into his chest – well, what you assume is his chest. “ _I’m_ the knight and _you’re_ the damsel, _princess_.”

His hand flies up to his chest in shock. “I am _not_ a damsel –“

“You are, and you’re coming with me –“

“I’m not leaving!”

You pause, incredulous. Tears pricking in your eyes, you begin to rant. “You were my best friend, Steve. I was there for you…. We used to have fun together, remember? I bought you a blueberry danish and coffee every Monday morning. Every Monday morning, I went out of my way to make you happy.” You laugh sadly. “And then I try to help you, and you push me away? Why? What did I do to you? What did I do to you to make you prefer dying in a Russian fortress over coming with me?”

Steve’s silent.

“I just broke into this place to save your life. I risked mine for yours. I stood up for you and got fired for it – oh, and you never mentioned _Carol_ would tell on me! I risked my life for you tonight and you don’t even thank me, you just push me away?” You laugh sadly again. “You’re an _asshole_.”

Steve feels tears well in his own eyes, but he blinks them away. He grabs your shoulders. “You need to go. _Now.”_

You scoff and shove him off of you. “To think! To think I ever loved you, Princess Harrington, Queen of –“

Steve blinks. “You – you love me?”

You open and close your mouth. You weren’t supposed to say that.

You’re about to give him a response when the lights flip on and the door opens. You and Steve turn quickly, staring at the guards standing in the doorway. Everyone freezes for a moment before you weakly ask, “Can we just have one more minute?”

The guards seize you quickly, grabbing you by the arms as you kick and writhe in their grasp. Steve tries to lunge for them, but he’s grabbed too, a man on each side. They pull you both to opposite sides of the room.

“Let go of her!” Steve shouts, twisting in their grip.

 _“Shut up!”_ you hiss. You don’t need him acting like he gives a shit _now_.

The guards start to pat you down for weapons and find your walkie, tossing it onto the floor. They grab the key card and dispose of it, too. Your gun is taken from you. One guard feels the knife on your thigh and his hand quickly reaches down your pants, making you gasp, and he pulls the blade out quickly.

“Don’t touch her!” Steve yells.

“Oh, like you haven’t done this before!” you retort.

Edwards comes into the room now, and you can’t help but to laugh. It all makes sense now - and Steve was right.

“Hey, asshole,” you say towards him.

Steve is going crazy. He feels like he’s drowning in the adrenaline and anxiety. It’s like he’s been kicked in the stomach, and you’re going to die before he can even tell you he loves you back.

Edwards grabs your chin and jerks it towards him. You narrow your eyes.

“How did you get in?” he asks.

You respond by spitting in his face. You knew there’d be repercussions, but it doesn’t make the pain of a guard’s fist flying into your ribs hurt any less. You can’t breathe for a second, hyperfixated on the pain, adrenaline rushing into your veins. You bend but snap back up, despite your body’s pleas to recoil. You couldn’t go down that easy.

“We have guards crawling all over this place. How. Did. You. Get. In?”

“You hired some really shitty guards,” you respond, and this time a fist makes contact with your jaw. You cry out and shut your eyes. Your heart beats in your ears and you suck in a sharp breath, whispering, “That hurt.”

“Now I know why you didn’t date her, Harrington,” Edwards says, amused. “She’s got quite a mouth on her.”

“Men seem to like that, don’t you know?” you say hoarsely.

“You don’t have to do this,” Steve says, voice cracking. “You can hurt me instead, please, just –“

 _“Steve,”_ you snap, frankly enraged that he’s trying to bargain for your safety after being a complete dick to you.

Another fist flies into you, this time hitting your cheekbone. Your head snaps to the side and your vision goes black for a moment before coming back. Your neck burns and your head aches, and before you can recover, you’re hit again, same place. Then a kick comes to your shin and your leg gives out from under you. The guards still hold you up, though, and you see a fist recoil. You moan out, “Oh, not my stomach, man!” but of course, you’re hit in the stomach, and you groan, breath knocked out of you yet again. You can start to taste blood in your mouth, metallic and sharp, and you can feel your pulse in every part of you. Your mind zones out, too focused on the pain, and you squeeze your eyes shut to stop yourself from crying.

Fists continue to rain down on you, mainly landing in your torso, and Steve cries, fighting even harder to get out of the hold he’s in.

“Please, stop!” he pleads. _“You’re killing her!”_

Your head pounds and you feel dizzy. You open your eyes to tunnel vision, focusing on one specific tile on the floor. You swear you can see every single imperfection in it, every crack and nook and discoloration. You’re in an extraordinary amount of pain. Every breath in feels like a kick and your stomach reels. You don’t even realize that you’re crying. One more blow to your temple and you finally give in to the pain, vision completely going black, body going limp.

They drop you then and let go of Steve, who runs to you and drops to his knees beside you. His head reels and anger and heartbreak flare in him, but he doesn’t have the energy to fight. All he can focus on is checking your pulse and making sure you didn’t crack your head when it hit the floor.

The guards collect your items and begin to leave, Edwards trailing behind them. He turns in the doorway to look at Steve, shaking his head, a sick smile on his face.

He turns, closes the door, and the room goes black again.

===

At first when you wake up, you don’t feel anything. For a split second, you think maybe you died – but then the pain slams into you, making your breath hitch. Every part of you hurts, and it hurts to breathe. You’re confused, too – when you try to open your eyes, it’s pitch black. With a groan, you try to pull yourself up, but a set of arms pull you back down onto something soft. Panicked, you try to get up again, and, again, you’re pulled back down. You hear something other than the ringing in your ears, a kind of hum, and you reach slowly behind you to figure out who has you.

“Hey, it’s me,” you finally hear. It’s Steve.

“Oh,” you mumble, letting your arm fall down to your side. “What…”

“You’re safe,” he says. “I’m right here.”

“Where are we?” you slur, finally opening your eyes. “Why’s it black?”

“We’re in the same room, they just shut the lights off.” You notice how thick his voice is; he’s been crying.

Apparently, getting the shit beat out of you makes you less angry at him. You feel your heart twitch and you frown. “Hey,” you whisper, trying to sit up again, but this time the pain knocks you back down. “Hey – don’t cry.”

He sniffles. “I’m not.”

You reach up and gently feel his face – it’s wet. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“ _Jesus._ ” A painful laugh slips past his lips, and he sniffles again. “You just got the shit beat out of you - and you’re worried about me?”

You make a weak noise in response.

It’s quiet for a while as you try to get your bearings and Steve tries to stop crying. “I get it now,” you finally say. “I get why you were so scared. The kids….” You feel his body tense underneath you, and you sigh. “I’m sorry, Steve. If I knew-“

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for - for everything. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, I’m sorry I got you into this. I’m sorry I was a shitty friend.”

“You were a great friend,” you say, smiling faintly. “You were just a really shitty crush.”

He doesn’t think now is the time to tell you that he loves you.

“Heard that one before,” he jokes, and you adjust yourself.

“No,” you say. “You don’t have to be funny right now, Steve Harrington. We are probably about to die. You don’t have to crack any jokes.”

Steve’s face falls at the mention of the dire situation you both were in. Being in shit like this all the time desensitized him, he guesses - or maybe whoever was writing his life just had a fucked-up sense of how things should work.

“Did they tell you?” he asks. “About….” He trails off before he finishes.

“Starcourt,” you answer. “They told me what happened last year. I don’t know anything that happened before that.”

Steve wishes it would stay that way.

“Were you right?” you ask, words starting to slur together again.

He furrows his brows, but then gets it. “Yeah. It was Edwards and the Russians. They killed that guy for – for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

You go to shake your head, but it hurts. Instead you hum sadly in response.

“I’m sorry I said what I said last night,” you confess after a few minutes. “It was uncalled for.”

You hear Steve sigh. “No, it wasn’t. I deserved it.”

“Maybe,” you say thoughtfully. “But not like that. Not then. Not that way. And I’m sorry I didn’t bring your bat back in. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. I’m sorry for….” Your breath hitches and the feeling of your emotions catching up to you hurts more than the punches. Well, _almost_. You shake your head gently.

“Sorry for…?”

You take in the deepest breath you can but wince at the pain. Steve’s arms tighten around you and you smile. You settle into him, enjoying the contact. “That’s why.” _That’s why you love him._

Steve laughs nervously. “You’re not makin’ any sense, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry for loving you,” you say, just above a whisper. You pause to gather your thoughts. “I didn’t mean to. God, I didn’t mean to. Even Robin told me it was a disaster waiting to happen.”

Steve is silent, so you continue.

“She warned me. She told me it wouldn’t end well. But, _Christ_ … laying in your bed with you, looking up at you….” You laugh sadly. “I thought I was the only girl in the world….” You let out another small laugh, feeling pathetic. “I was being selfish. I won’t do it again.”

A thousand thoughts race through Steve’s head. When did you and Robin talk? Robin was right, but he wants to yell at her anyway. _When_ did you fall in love with him? What do you mean you didn’t _mean to?_

“You’re not selfish,” was all he could get out. After a moment, he continues. “I was selfish. I thought I had to keep both of my lives separate. I thought I could have you as a friend and as a - someone to help me.” He swallows hard, pushing back tears. “But I was so – so _awful_ \- I didn’t think about your feelings. I didn’t think about how it affected you. I was trying to protect you but-“

“Steve,” you whisper. You reach up and touch his face, and he melts into your palm. “Shut up.”

Steve is taken aback at first, but then he starts to laugh. It starts out slow and low, but crescendos quickly into a hearty, stuffy, dorky laugh. He doesn’t know why he’s laughing - the shock of you telling him to shut up, just like you used to, or maybe it’s just the shock of the situation. You start soon after him, and although each jerk of your body hurts and sends your head careening, you can’t stop.

“I missed you,” he breathes finally. He grabs your hand and laces his fingers through it gently, reclaiming the bond of trust and care you both had.

“Missed you too,” you murmur, leaning back into him.

He wishes he could see you now, eyes alight and happy. He wishes he could see your smile and the look you always gave him - that look of patience, of kindness, of _love_.

Maybe he _should_ tell you here.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says slowly. He licks his lips and pauses. “Uh….”

“Did I look sexy getting beat up?”

“No jokes allowed,” he says, squeezing your arm gently. He takes a few deep breaths before speaking. “I love you. And it’s not something like I ever felt before. When I’m with you… I feel like I’m _home_. I feel safe. I feel like I can be myself. And I don’t feel that way around a lot of people. But you – you make me feel like I’m invincible.” He laughs softly. “Things are funny with you, even when they shouldn’t be. You make me feel like I have something to give. Like I’m smart. You believed in me, even when you didn’t know what the hell I was talking about… and no one else would ever even give me that chance.”

You’re quiet, but your heart is drumming in you at a fast pace, making your ribs hurt and head spin.

“You were patient with me. Kind. Even when I didn’t deserve it. You came to save my life after what I did to you.” He sniffles and clears his throat. “I’ll never be able to say sorry enough. Not even if I say it every single day for the rest of my life. And I wish … I know you deserve more than that. I know that. But I love you, Y/N. I always have but I just ….”

You bob your head lightly. “You couldn’t open up to me. I understand, Steve.”

“I love you,” he says, and his voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”

You run your thumb over his hand as you think. It hurts to think, but you try. You try to find the words to respond, but you figure that maybe a kiss would say enough. You sit up again to face him, but something stabs your lower stomach. Your falter quickly, and Steve’s hands grab your biceps.

“Are you okay?” He asks, rushed and worried.

Your brows furrow and you bring a hand down to your waistband. Then you remember _\- they didn’t find the other key._

“Shit!” You shout, twisting your body painfully to look at him - well, look towards him. You wince aggressively before saying, “The key!”

“What key?!” He panics. “Are you-“

You gently reach down into your waistband and pull it out - it’s intact.

“This one!” You exclaim, shoving it towards him.

“What –“ his head moves back in disgust – “why is this so warm -“

“It’s a key card. It’ll get us out of here.”

You can practically envision his confusion in the dark. “Where -“

“I stole it earlier and hid it in my waistband and they didn’t find it. Keep up, princess.”

You go to stand but he gently pulls you back down. “Woah, woah, take it easy, will you? Jesus, you probably have ten concussions and a broken rib -“

“What’s your idea? Get killed?”

He narrows his eyes at where he thinks you are. “We have to formulate something before you just hop up and stumble out there.”

“Look,” you begin. You take a second to gather yourself – damn, you’re dizzy. “Doc Owens is coming, but we can’t sit in here and wait for liberation. They’re probably getting ready to kill us right now, execution style.”

“You didn’t need to clarify that, but – yeah, yeah, okay.”

“We need to get the hell out of here. I have this key card and it’ll open the doors for us. We go and find the walkie talkie and some weapons, and we get out!”

“How are you going to walk around here like that? And with me in these clothes?”

You freeze. “Let’s change outfits.”

Steve laughs. “There’s no way you’re fitting –“

“Finish that sentence and you’ll never have a chance with me, got it?”

“I – yeah – sorry –“

“You can wear this uniform and act like you’re a guard and I’m the prisoner. The hat might still be around here somewhere ….”

Steve laughs mirthlessly. “No _way_ this will work.”

“It’s all we have!” you say, and Steve understands. You blindly trusted him for weeks – he can trust you blindly for a few hours. He sighs and starts to strip, throwing his shirt and sweatpants at you.

“Last time I saw you, you were in boxers,” you muse, gripping the sweats.

“Couldn’t let the Russians see my –“

_“Steve!”_

“I’m kidding! _Jesus.”_

He helps you pull your uniform off, both of you blushing and in an awkward silence the entire time. It’s difficult to get things off and on in the dark and with a concussion, but you both manage. Steve finds your hat on the floor and he grabs it, sighing as he tucks his hair up into it. If he gets gunned down looking like _this,_ there’s going to be Hell to pay. He helps you up and you stumble into his chest, resting your hands on it. He smiles, happy to feel the contact.

“Are you ready?” you ask.

“Can I say no?” he asks.

“Haven’t you done this like, three times?”

He laughs lightly. “You never get used to it.”

You smile and grab his hand, twisting your fingers together. “Let’s do this.”


	9. chapter nine - hand in glove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve attempt to escape the base, which goes a bit easier - and a bit worse - than imagined.

As if would turn out, sneaking around a secret Russian base with a concussion was not very easy.

You were taken out almost immediately just by the lights out in the Interrogation Hub. Steve kept watch as you bent over and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to find an angle that didn’t make your ribs ache. His hand stayed on your back the entire time, rubbing it in attempt to comfort you.

“I know it’s not fun,” he says.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper, but Steve gently guides you to start walking. He knows if you don’t keep going, you’re not going to make it. And he’d like to take you on a date after all of this.

“We gotta find … walkie… first,” you remind, and Steve nods.

“I have the plan, just relax.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re not totally helpless.”

“You’re on thin ice, Y/N.”

The halls are as deserted as they were when you arrived, much to your relief. It was easy to keep walking, but not easy to know where you were going. It felt like you and Steve were walking in constant circles, and Steve’s anxiety rose each time they walked into another stark white hallway. The sound of voices down the hall forced you both to take refuge in a random room, Steve’s fists raised to fight in case anyone was inside. But it was bare – and full of everything you needed.

On the far wall was a control board, which was in front of a huge wall of screens. You could look and see all of the security cameras on them. This would be helpful if it weren’t for the fact that there were easily 75 screens, and each room looked exactly the same. In the middle of the room was a long table, and there sat your knife, walkie, and gun.

“This seems too easy,” Steve mumbles, fists lowering.

“Maybe the author is taking it easy on us,” you mutter, leaning heavily into him. Your head spins and hurts, your chest aches when you breathe. You don’t remember ever being so miserable, and you want nothing more than to break down and cry. And sleep. Thankfully, the adrenaline keeps your ass in gear, spurring you to keep going.

“God, you’re really concussed,” Steve says. He leads you slowly to a chair at the table and you slowly sit, reveling in the feeling of being grounded. Steve picks up the walkie and hesitantly turns it on.

“Uh, this is –“

He doesn’t even finish before a cacophony of voices scream from the box, making you groan loudly. Steve hisses and turns the volume down before growling, “One at a time! Over!”

“We thought you guys died,” you hear Mike say. “We thought you guys were dead! Over!”

“Steve, are you okay?” Robin asks. “Where’s Y/N?”

You reach up and pry the walkie from Steve’s hands. “This is _Juliet_. Have you called Owens?”

“Yeah, like, two hours ago,” you hear Lucas say. “Joyce is losing her shit.”

“Guys, _please_ don’t forget to say over,” you hear Mike groan somewhere in the background.

“Is he on his way?” You ask. “We could really use the help.”

“Mom went to meet them at the station, we had to fill her in,” Will says.

“We’re here with her,” Dustin says. “He should be here any minute!”

Steve snatches the walkie from you. “We don’t have time to waste. We don’t know how to get out of here, and Y/N isn’t doing so hot.”

“It’s Juliet,” you say weakly. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at you like you’re an idiot – but there’s still some love in his eyes, too.

“Look, if Mike wasn’t so fucking sure that we should use code names, then I wouldn’t –“

“We don’t know how to get out,” Steve continues into the radio. “We’re in those tunnels that the Demodogs were travelling through.”

“The ones from last season?!” Max asks.

“Yes, those –“

A song of voices rings out again, this time sounding confused and shocked. You slip away as Steve attempts to explain everything quickly. You head over to the opposite side of the room, away from the screens, and find a series of desks. The desks have things like pencils and protractors on them, and you squint. One desk has what looks like a blueprint on it. Stepping forward, you grab the paper, revealing another set of plans underneath. They’re maps.

“Found something,” you say weakly, and Steve strides over. You hand him one of the more legible plans – architecture and design is not your forte, nor is it his. It’s staggering, the number of tunnels, the number of hubs, all running underneath Hawkins. There were miles and miles of them, and your stomach dropped. These tunnels had been fully functioning as a Russian base for more than a year, and the people put in office to protect you allowed it.

But another realization hits you after that, sending your stomach to your toes: If you’re not close to the exit, you won’t make it.

The rooms are written out in Russian, but you can get a sense of where you are, and you can tell where you had come from. The interrogation hub was clearly marked out, as it had about a dozen rooms within it. You had only gone maybe three hubs and hallways from it, and Steve points out a closet marked with a camera – that’s probably where you were. The exit is on the very far end of the tunnels, where the bar is on the other side of town. You were about ten hubs away from it.

“Closer than we thought,” Steve mumbles, and you scrunch your nose.

“Ten hubs is going to take like, forty five minutes to clear. And we are….” You gesture to yourself and then to him.

“Yeah, it’ll _suck_ , but we can do it,” he says. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Congrats.”

“You get so mouthy when you’re concussed, you know that?”

“I get mouthy when I am about to die, Steve, _thanks_.”

Steve rolls his eyes and lifts the walkie-talkie back to his mouth. “We’ve got a map. We’re kind of close to the exit through the bar. We’re going to go for it and keep you updated. Over.”

You grab the walkie from him weakly. “Make sure they know we’re down here, yeah? Don’t want to get mowed down by bullets.”

“Got it. Standing by,” Dustin says.

“Going off walkie, talk soon, over.”

Steve takes the walkie back, which is good, because every word that comes out of your mouth makes your head spin and stomach lurch. You grab the gun and knife.

“Woah, hey,” he says, gently grabbing your wrist. “Don’t think you can shoot that in your state.”

“ _My_ gun,” you whisper. “Keeping it.”

Steve knows realistically he probably couldn’t shoot a gun right now. He’s keeping cool and positive on the outside, but he’s screaming bloody murder on the inside. He’s terrified to lose you. He knows you’re not doing well; he can see the miserable look behind your eyes, how you wince with each step, how labored your breathing is from the pain. He has no idea how you’re going to make it, other than through sheer willpower - which he knows you possess. Steve also feels like his heart is ricocheting through his body. Every look at you reminds him of things he should have said or did. Every look reminds him of how much he loves you, how much he fucked up.

Yeah, he probably couldn’t shoot a gun right now. Neither could you. But someone should have one. He makes a mental note of where it is on you, tucked into your waistband and sitting on your waist, in case he needs to use it on your behalf.

You carefully put the knife into your garter again and give a thumbs up. Steve’s hand grips the map and he clips the walkie to his uniform before sighing heavily and leading you into the hallway.

You’re met immediately by five people in uniforms similar to Steve’s. You both freeze, eyes wide. Steve’s about to grab your gun but the men simply nod and continue. Steve breathes out a sigh of relief and he takes your hands behind your back to create the impression that he’s taking you somewhere.

“They’re morons,” Steve says to you. “Idiots.”

You make it through two hubs carefully and without incident, but each step is starting to feel like a death march for you. You try to act strong so that Steve doesn’t freak, but you’re almost positive you’re about to collapse.

You enter the third hub. Steve lifts the walkie. “This is – _us_ – we are heading into the third hub right n-“

He’s cut off by the lights turning red and an alarm blaring. You begin to drop to the floor at the noise but Steve grabs you around the waist, holding you steady. _“Shit.”_

“What’s going on?” Robin asks through the radio.

“Is Owen’s here?” Steve asks. “Or –“

“They know we’re missing,” you answer for him. “They’re looking for us.”

Steve throws his head back, and if he had a free hand, he would run it aggressively through his hair. He straightens you with his arm still around your waist and lifts the walkie back up. “We’ve got company!”

“He should be here any minute!” Robin stresses, and you can hear the panic in her voice. “Hide, or –“

“Yeah, got it, Rob,” he says harshly into the radio. “Stand by.”

Steve clips the radio to himself and uses both hands to steady you, still gripping the map. He turns you to look at him. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look so serious.

“I know you don’t think you have it in you, but you do, okay?” he says sternly. “We have to get out of here. I’ll help you, just –“

“I can’t,” you whisper, emotions rolling through you heavily. Your eyes well up with tears. “Please, just go –“

“No,” he says, gripping onto your shoulders. “I’m not leaving here without you, understand? You’re coming with me. You’re my partner, remember? We don’t leave each other behind.”

You groan and squeeze your eyes shut to stop the tears. “If we live through this, I’m going to kill you.”

He quirks a smile and quickly says, “I think you mean _kiss_ ,” before guiding you towards the next hallway.

The bad news – the hallway is stocked full of Russians in uniforms who are looking for you both.

The good news – there are so many of them that they cannot tell that you and Steve are, in fact, you and Steve.

The next bad news – you and Steve are split up almost immediately.

One guard shouts at Steve and grabs you from him – he must assume you’re another prisoner. The guard escorts you roughly down the hallway and you look back at Steve, eyes wide, matching his. He tries to shout after the man who has you, but the other shouting and chaos in the hallway drowns him out. You were expecting to get shot and killed, but this is somehow way worse.

Steve tries to push through the crowd, but he is physically unable; it’s a small hallway, after all. The panic rises in him and he tries to calm himself down, tries to watch where you’re being taken, but it’s so god damn dim and red and he can’t differentiate between anyone. Suddenly, he’s being pushed with the rest in the direction you both just came from, as you head the other way.

Luckily for you, you still have the gun. And although you are tripping over yourself, even though the feeling of the guard’s fingers digging into your bruised skin hurts, you can still remember how to use it. The guard takes you into an empty hallway and heads for one of the rooms off of it, letting go of you briefly to unlock it with his card. You move quickly, grabbing the gun from your waistband and lifting it.

This one puts up a fight, much unlike the young man you encountered before. A scuttle ensues as he grabs your forearms, attempting to throw you to the ground. You plant your feet though, and the sheer adrenaline helps you rip your arm from his grip and slam the pistol down onto his head. He drops and you lean against the wall, catching your breath.

If you didn’t feel like you were going to die before, you _definitely_ feel it now. 

You give yourself a moment to catch your breath and push off of the wall. You can slightly remember the path you had taken to get here, and you attempt to retrace your steps. You know there’s no point in trying to find Steve. Not only can he hold himself – _probably_ – but there’s no way in hell you could take care of yourself _and_ find him. You walk aimlessly, using the wall for support, stopping every so often to steady yourself. You’re thankful for the dim red lights, even if they flash. It’s better than the stark white you were working with.

You’re also thankful that the guards are somewhere else, because the empty hallways help you navigate quicker than you would otherwise.

Stepping gingerly, you continue your path, simply hoping something familiar comes up or, by some miracle, Steve finds you. Your heart hurts that you didn’t get to tell him one last time that you love him. Fear grips you – what if he dies without knowing? But he probably does know, and he’s probably _very_ smug about it, and the thought of that dumb, smug smile helps you continue to put one foot in front of the other.

You enter a new hallway. Stopping momentarily to catch your breath and rest, you lean against the wall. Your eyes close and you want nothing more than to just sleep. Just a quick nap. Just a –

Someone grabs you roughly and throws you to the floor before you can finish your thought. Your head slams against the tile and you see stars, nothing but _stars_ against a black background. Your ears ring and you weakly reach up to protect yourself, but you’re lifted and slammed against the wall.

“Steve?” you slur stupidly, remembering what happened the last time you both found each other.

The laugh that answers confirms that this is not Steve – it’s Edwards.

“Got split up?” he asks, and he throws you against the wall again, making you cry out.

“A bit,” you reply weakly. You try to knee him, but your leg only lifts about two inches before it falls back down.

Edwards grabs your jaw and jerks it so that you look at him – or, well, face him. You couldn’t open your eyes from the pain.

“You kids have been a pain in my ass since you first started,” he says, and a punch to the stomach sends you careening backwards. You black out for just a moment and he throws you to the floor.

You’re pretty okay with your fate at this point. It hurts, you don’t have Steve, Steve could be dead – this is okay, you think. You’re at peace with it. You just hope it comes quick. You curl into the fetal position, wincing at the pain in your stomach and ribs, and wait for the fatal blow or bullet to come.

“Only wish your boyfriend could be here to watch,” he says, and you hear the gun cock.

 _He’s not my boyfriend_ , you think. _Not yet_.

“Any last words?”

 _Typical,_ you think. You open your mouth to respond, but someone responds for you.

“Go to hell.”

Steve’s fist makes contact with Edwards’ nose, a sickening _crunch_ ringing through the air. In shock, Edwards drops his gun, before swinging at Steve. Steve dodges it and throws another fist, which collides with Edwards’ jaw. Edwards manages to grab Steve and throw him down, but Steve pulls him down, too. They struggle with each other, fists being thrown every which way, and you hear the contact from your position on the floor. You are impressed with Steve’s good timing, impressed with his sick-ass comeback, impressed with his punches.

But here’s the thing – you know Steve’s track record. You also know now that Edwards is a sick fucking sociopath with a few tricks up his sleeve. You need to help Steve or you’re both dead.

You pick yourself up off the floor with all the energy you have left and grab the pistol from your waistband.

_“It’s simple, really,” Edwards said. “First, make sure safety is off.”_

You click the safety off.

_“Make sure your feet are planted firmly. Good position is key.”_

You plant your feet, one slightly in front of the other.

_“Have good posture. Keep your shoulders back and chin up. Don’t take your eyes off of the target.”_

You roll your shoulders back and straighten as best as you can, despite the protests from your ribcage. You force your eyes open wide, focusing on Edwards, who is still scuttling with Steve. He’s a moving target, and you’re not sure if you’re going to hit Steve or him, but you still line the gun up with Edwards’ figure.

_“Be ready for the recoil – it’ll hurt if you’re not prepped,” Edwards said, making sure to straighten your arms as you focused on the target. “Keep your arms straight as an arrow.”_

You straighten your arms, gun held out in front of you, trained on Edwards’ figure. Steve shoves Edwards off of him and he flies backwards, giving you a bit of separation. You train the gun and your eyes on him.

_“Take a deep breath,” Edwards had instructed. “And then shoot.”_

You take a deep breath. Edwards flies back towards Steve and you force yourself to keep your eyes open as you shoot.

The shot rings through the air.

At first, Steve thinks he’s the one who’s been hit, and he gasps, eyes squeezed shut. He waits for the pain, but it never comes. He slowly opens his eyes to find Edwards on the floor, shot in the shoulder. He’s alive – and fine – but stunned into silence. Steve’s brows furrow, confusion surging through him, until he hears the gun hit the tile, you dropping right after it.

Steve runs for you, holding you tightly against his chest. You just saved his life, twice in one night. The appreciation, the adoration, the horror, the love all travels through his veins at once, and tears run down his face without Steve even realizing.

You are simply spent – there’s no _way_ you’re going to keep going after this.

“You okay?” you whisper.

Steve is, miraculously, fine. None of Edwards’ punches landed, and he got Edwards pretty good, too. He laughs softly in disbelief. “Never been better,” he says dryly. “You?”

Your eyes meet his and the look in them tells him what you need to say. You can’t keep going. You have to stay back. You have to wait for Owens.

But Steve knows that can’t happen. If you’re left alone, you’ll fall asleep, and honestly, who knows what will happen after that? It’s not an option to leave you behind – it never was.

Steve quickly scrambles to get the map out of his pocket. He unfolds it and points. “Look, we’re so close, Y/N, so close. The exit is right there – we can make it, come on!”

He attempts to lift you, but you cry out, so he slowly lowers you back down. Edwards groans from behind you and Steve turns to him, snapping, “I’ll shoot you if you so much as _twitch_.”

Steve looks back to you, his eyes searching yours. You think he looks so handsome down here in the red lighting. Your hand reaches to his face and you cup it again. “Go ahead.”

 _“No._ ” Steve licks his lips and gently grabs your shoulders. “You didn’t owe me a damn thing, and you came for me, and you stayed for me. I will never be able to return that favor, but I can try, right now. I’m not leaving you. You’re not dying down here.”

“Steve,” you mumble.

“Y/N, you have to get up,” he pleads, voice cracking. “I only got to love you for a few hours, and I – I want to spend the rest of my life doing that. But I can’t do that when you’re dead, okay? Or – I guess I could, it would just be really sad –“

“Steve,” you repeat.

“I’m going to take you on the best dates,” he continues. “I’m going to take you everywhere you have ever wanted to go. I will take you to see the National Parks, I’ll take you to that stupid candy themed amusement park in Oklahoma. You always wanted to go to it, right? I’ll take you to the Empire State Building, I’ll take you to Hollywood, I don’t care. I’ll cook for you, I’ll bake you danishes every single day for the rest of your life –“

“I don’t like danishes.”

He laughs sadly and cups your face. “I know, I know, but you haven’t tried one of mine yet, remember? I’ll _cook_ for you, I’ll take you on picnics, just – please, please, get up. Please let me love you for the time we have left.”

As one of your coworkers had said before, _Only love makes you that crazy – and that damn stupid._ This apparently applies to near-death experiences as well, because you are able to pull yourself to your feet. The thought of loving you was enough to get you through the last few hubs and hallways. Steve made sure to kick Edwards on the way out, threatening him once more. He won’t die down there – he’ll die after rotting in prison, and that’s a better fate.

Steve carries most of your weight, one of your arms draped over his broad shoulders as he uses his free hand to hold the map. Every time you’d slow down or falter, Steve would promise you something else to keep you moving.

“They’re making a sequel to _Back to the Future_ , and I’ll take you to every viewing.”

“I’ll buy a polaroid and take nice pictures of you every single day.” He pauses. “Well, try to, I don’t know much about photography.”

“I’ll buy _you_ the coffee and pastries every Monday.”

Each promise sends a bit more energy through you. It’s not so much that you want these things to happen to badly that it keeps you going. It’s that Steve gives such a shit that he’d do these things with you. It’s that Steve loves you, and you love him, and he was right – a couple hours of love isn’t enough for you. You want more. You want the cuddles, the kisses, the fights, the sleepovers. You want it all – and that’s what keeps you going.

Steve’s talking into the walkie at certain intervals, keeping the gang updated on what’s going on. You block these intermissions out, instead focusing on how your shoes look on the tile. Before you know it, you’re pushed into an elevator, the same one you rode when you came for Steve. Your vision starts to falter now, and you hear Steve talking, but you can’t make it out.

“Almost there, we’re almost there,” he comforts. “Just a few more minutes.”

The bar is, at this point, deserted and closed down. Steve’s thankful of the absence of bodies as he exits the elevator, you gripping onto him for your life.

“Dustin, Rob, we’re out,” he breathes into the radio. “We’re –“

You decide to clock out right here. You made it – that’s all you could do. You made it out from the underground, and now you’re officially done. You give in to the comfort of unconsciousness and fall to the ground, Steve unable to catch you from how fast you moved.

Dates be damned. You’re out.

Steve drops beside you, his fingers immediately going to your wrist to check your pulse. It’s weak and slow, and he starts to lightly pat your face. “Y/N, come on, don’t do this, _wake up!”_

When you don’t stir, Steve goes into freak-out mode. He grabs the radio and begs for Robin, Mike, _anyone_ to call an ambulance. His fingers don’t leave your wrist and he doesn’t leave your side for even a second. In only a few minutes, Owens and his troops appear, pushing past Steve and you on the ground and heading straight to the elevators. Joyce is with Owens, and she runs to Steve, kneeling and immediately wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her mother reflexes kicking in. “Are – are you hurt?”

“She needs an ambulance,” Steve cries, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “ _Please_ , she needs to get to a hospital, I don’t know how much time –“

Robin and Dustin appear now, stress and worry gripping their features. They both lunge for Steve, who is now caught in a group-hug, while he holds your hand tightly. Two men with a stretcher appear next, lifting you off the ground, and Steve hugs everyone back for a split moment before running off to join you in the ambulance. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows there are questions he needs to answer, but his first priority is you, his partner, and he’s not leaving your side.

The medics ask him questions about his own state, and he gives one-word answers and shrugs. He’s fine, physically, but he’s pretty sure he will take up Owen’s standing offer for therapy after all of this. Steve doesn’t leave your side even as you arrive at the hospital, running alongside your stretcher.

A woman appears beside him, holding a clipboard. “Relation to the patient?”

Steve’s brows furrow and he quickly answers, “Relation? I – she’s my partner.”

You wake up momentarily just to hear that, and you let out an _“aww”_ before slipping back under. Steve is stopped in front of two double doors, left with the promise that he could see you once they check your vitals and make sure you’re stabilized. He slides down the wall and sits on the cool linoleum floor, still in his authentic Russian uniform. The silence in the hall is deafening and startling for him.

He wishes he could hear your voice.


	10. chapter ten - how soon is now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath, you and Steve find comfort in each other.

Steve has a lot of housekeeping to do.

He talks to your parents on a payphone at the hospital once a day. They’re in Europe and it’s taking them a while to get back, so they communicate this way. It’s awkward and weird for Steve to introduce himself, stumbling over his words – “Hi, I’m Steve Harrington. I’m your daughter’s partner. Like, at the station? But we also – we might – yeah. Anyway, she’s hurt pretty bad.” They tell him how much they appreciate him though, and he figures he’s had worse “meet the parents” scenarios before.

In between waiting to see you and sleeping on the floor, Sam Owens takes him into an empty conference room within the hospital. Steve tells him everything – the gut feeling that something was off about the Chief, the meddling of the evidence, the underground base, the bar, the building permits, _everything._ Owens nods solemnly as Steve speaks. It’s a lot to get through, and by the time Steve’s done explaining, his throat hurts.

“It’s taken care of,” Owens says simply, patting the top of Steve’s hand. “And we are looking into other properties to make sure they aren’t infiltrated, too.”

Steve nods. He doesn’t know if he can even trust Owens right now, but he’s too exhausted and worn to put up much of a fight.

“Are you doing okay?” Owens asks.

Steve doesn’t know how to answer. He leans back in his chair and lets out a long breath. Finally, he says, “I haven’t been doing okay for a long time.”

Owens nods sympathetically and pulls out a paper pad and pen. “We have some of the best therapists in the country, if you’d want to take a look at the programs. I’ll give you the information.” Owens pauses to write, then looks back up with a smile. “I’ll prescribe you some Ativan, too. Just to take the edge off.”

Steve nods weakly. Owens shoves the paper towards Steve who takes it and folds it into the uniform he is still wearing. He’s been asked numerous times to go home to clean and change, but he refuses, scared to lose the chance to see you if he’s gone when you wake. Owens leans back in his chair now, hands crossing over his chest. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Steve nods again.

“You exhibited… phenomenal skills when dealing with this case,” Owens starts. “Your attention to detail and drive to continue is something to be admired. The willpower you have and how strong you’ve been –“

“I haven’t been strong,” Steve interrupts. “I just… hid the pain very well.”

Owens shrugs. “You’re still a tough son of a bitch.”

Steve laughs.

“Your expertise is something that could really be helpful in the FBI, or CIA.”

If Steve were drinking, he would do a spit-take. “Are you serious?” he asks incredulously, leaning so far forward he almost falls out of his chair. “ _Me?_ FBI? _CIA?_ ”

“Just something to think about,” Owens says. “If you think you’re interested, give me a call. But before then….” Owens eyes shine. “We need an interim police Chief until we can get someone better in there. What do you say?”

Steve blinks. “Are you asking me to be acting Chief of Police in Hawkins?” Owens nods and Steve scoffs in disbelief. “ _Bullshit_. I’m just a kid.”

“A kid with a hell of a lot of knowledge on all the things that have happened in this town. A kid with the will to keep going and do what’s right.” Owens sighs. “Look, you’re not going to have all the power – you’re just a sitting Chief. You’re already part of the force, so see it as a promotion. Just until we can find someone new.”

Steve swallows hard, his head racing, but he can’t help the smile that curves the ends of his lips. “ _Jesus._ When do I start?”

He can’t wait to see his dad’s stupid face when he tells him.

===

Steve eventually does leave the hospital, because he wants to change and shower and buy you something nice. The thought didn’t even cross his mind until the Party showed up, all sporting either flowers or chocolates or movies for you. Robin and Dustin hug Steve tightly, and Steve’s eyes beam when he tells them of his promotion.

“He even said I could be part of the FBI,” Steve says lowly.

“Congrats,” Robin says. “Now _please_ go change your clothes.”

And so he does, changing into the same outfit he wore the first time you both hung out. He grabs the most expensive bouquet at the florist, knowing full well he was about to be broke, then uses what little he has left to spare to buy you chocolates. He goes for a card but decides that he should probably use his words. Also, you probably couldn’t really read right now, what with the enormous concussion you’re sporting.

He’s sitting on the floor with the bouquet in hand – he insisted it was personally delivered – when the nurses tell him he can see you. He jumps up and pauses – his palms are sweaty, his heartbeat is through the roof, and he feels dizzy. It’s like being on a first date, or something; but he figures that’s what happens when the love you’ve been suppressing for months comes to you in one night.

You’re sitting up in bed and eating Jell-O when Steve bursts in, holding a huge bouquet of every flower known to man and a box of chocolates. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was Valentine’s Day.

“Hey,” you say, smiling broadly and taking him in. Last time you saw him was in a dimly lit bar lounge. He looks a lot more handsome here.

“Hi,” he says back. He stills before kicking into action, walking towards you. He awkwardly places the bouquet beside the other flowers people had brought and he sits the chocolates on your tray. “I figured maybe you’d like something that wasn’t hospital food.”

“I don’t know,” you beam. “Hospital Jell-O is pretty good.”

Steve laughs quietly as he sits on the chair next to you. You’re looking pretty rough – sporting a black eye, bruises and cuts over your face, your ribs wrapped up and your legs bandaged. Every movement hurts you and the concussion has you feeling dizzy and downright miserable. But all you did when you woke up was ask for Steve, and now he’s here. The sight of him adds ten years to your life and subsides the pain.

“You, uh,” he says. “Still look beautiful.”

You snort. “Okay.”

“I mean it!”

“Hotter than Mia Sara?”

“Always,” he grins, but it falters. “I need to talk to you.”

You put your Jell-O cup down. “Steve, we –“

“Please.”

You sigh and nod curtly. He sighs as well and runs a hand through his hair before starting. “It’s the worst feeling in the world to know that I got you into this. This was all my fault. And… and if I was just straight with you from the start, you wouldn’t be in this mess.” He swallows hard and fights off the painful feeling in his throat, signaling tears. “I was a dick. A total, complete _asshole_. And I don’t deserve for you to accept my apology. But I will tell you every single day for the rest of our lives that I am so, so sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you for _this_ ,” you say. “I’d die over and over again if it meant saving you and your cute ass.” You pause to let Steve roll his eyes, then continue. “I’m mad that you told me you didn’t love me. I’m mad at the mixed signals. I’m mad that you used to – you used to pick me up and twirl me, hold my hand.” You bite your lip. “Steve, you looked at me like I was the only girl in the world.”

“Because you are,” he says, reaching out and clasping your hand. “You are _everything_ to me.”

“Then why did you say you couldn’t love me? Because you didn’t want me to get caught up in everything?” Steve nods, avoiding your eyes. You laugh. “Steve, here’s the thing. When someone loves someone, they’d go to the ends of the earth for them. When you told me you didn’t love me, it just spurred me on. It made me mad, _yeah_ , but I _still loved you_. Nothing you could say could change that.” You laugh again and gesture to yourself. “Dude. I’d _literally_ die for you. I almost did.”

Steve can’t stop the tears now, and they feel warm as they run down his cheeks. He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “I thought that if I acted like I didn’t love you, they couldn’t hurt you.”

“I understand,” you say gently. “I know. But no evil can stop love, Steve. And you’re kind of an idiot for trying to think otherwise.”

Steve laughs sadly. “Calling me an idiot, just like old times.”

You gently grab his chin and tilt him towards you. “If there’s one thing I have learned in the past – however many days I was out – it’s that you’re not an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes fall downward. “Then what am I?” he asks quietly, his voice cracking.

“You’re smart,” you start. “You’re brave. You’re strong. You’re funny. You’re caring. You’re kind. Fast learner. Wholesome. Helpful. Inspiring.” You don’t notice that you’re leaning forward until you’re right at his lips. You smile softly. “Devilishly handsome.” You rest your forehead on his, your thumb caressing his. His hand cups your face and your eyes brim with tears. “You’re incredible, Steve.”

When your lips meet, it feels like everything lost has been found. It feels like the missing pieces are finally set into place. Like the void within your chest has been filled. It’s warm, gentle, adoring. Steve’s thumb caresses your cheekbone and he melts into it, a smile forming on his lips. He feels like everything is right. He feels like he’s home.

When you part, you both can’t help the comically large smiles that form on your face. Steve’s thumb continues its course on your cheekbone as he whispers, “I’ve wanted to do that since you first walked into the station in that stupid blue uniform.”

You shake your head. “Bet you tell all the girls that.”

The next kiss is passionate, hands touching wherever they could reach. It’s intoxicating – Steve is a better kisser than you thought. Your hands tangle in his hair and you pull him towards you. Despite the dizziness in your head, you continue – it’s been _entirely_ too long of a wait. He gets up, ready to climb on top of you, when a voice behind him shouts, “Excuse me!”

Steve whirls around and finds a nurse, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh, I’m – helping her – with her Jell-O.”

“Helping her with _something_ , alright,” he huffs. “Hands off. I don’t care if you’re her partner or not.”

Steve blushes deeply and you do, too, biting your lip and trying to hide your bashful smile. Steve sits again, grabbing an unused pillow on your bed and using it to cover himself. Yeah, it’s probably a bad look to get a boner when the girl you love is lying in bed, concussed and broken, but this is Steve. What can one expect? The nurse checks on your vitals and gives you some painkillers, leaving with a stern look towards Steve.

You look to him, holding his hand again. “What now?”

Steve sighs. “Now you sign about a hundred documents saying that you won’t tell anyone what you saw. And then you get better and we both go to therapy.” Steve smiles softly. “And then after _that_ , I have a thousand dates to take you on.”

“Just a thousand?” you tease.

“I’ll take you on more if you’re good.”

There’s a comfortable silence. You both just want to be near each other, hear each other’s breath, the rustling of clothes. 

“Steve,” you say quietly, playing with his fingers. “I love you.”

It’s music to his ears. Softly, he says it back. “I love you, too.”

“Partners?” you ask.

Steve smiles. “ _Partners_.”


End file.
